For Women’s History Month, I’m going to give a blanket recommendation to the work of a remarkable female manga artist (Japanese comic artist), one whose work was paramount in starting the manga/anime movement in the west. Her name is Rumiko Takahashi, and for those in the community, she needs no real introduction. I first started reading her first published work “Urusei Yatsura” (Those Obnoxious Aliens) at the age of three, and since then has followed her through “Maison Ikkoku”, “Ranma 1/2”, “Inuyasha”, and her various short stories in “Rumic World”. I haven’t been following her latest work “Rin-ne”, but the aim of this post is to chart her influence on me as a manga artist.
Rumiko is somewhat unique in the manga publishing world. She’s a best-selling female manga artist who draws mostly for a male audience (though she has female fans too), and she draws in a gender-neutral style that nonetheless is skilled, expressive and interesting. Above all that, she started off in the genre of comedy, which is never easy to do. She’s since branched out into horror, dramady, action-adventure and small-scale domestic drama, but she’s flexible and malleable enough that I don’t doubt she’ll go on to tackle other genres. Overall, her work is highly-recognisable and has a very strong sense of personality – you’ll always be able to pick a Rumiko Takahashi story at a glance.
I also have to mention her female characters. As a manga artist who started in the 70s in a magazine aimed at teenage boys, I imagine she must have gotten her fair share of pressure from the editors to make her female characters sexually-appealing. There’s no doubt Rumiko’s women are that, but they’re also slyly subversive in their personalities and the way they’re depicted. For a country that is known for its shy, submissive women (at least in manga and anime), Takahashi’s women are frequently loud, violent and filled with character flaws. All of them are as interesting as her male characters, and while everyone’s character defects are played for laughs, it’s wonderful to see such gender parity – and they’ve been depicted that way right from the start.
All in all, Rumiko Takahashi has a unique voice, one that has remained unique and recognisable for the past thirty years (and counting). If you haven’t read her work, you really should. If being the world’s best-selling female comic book artist doesn’t convince you, then being a wonderful comic book artist certainly should.
I have a list of her work here, many of which have been translated into English. My #1 pick for the uninitiated would be “Maison Ikkoku”, since it’s a more down-to-earth story about a poor ronin (failed university student) who is trying to win the heart of a young widow. Conversely, you may try her more zany comedies, like the slapstick earthling-meets-alien “Urusei Yatsura,” or the gender-bending martial arts comedy “Ranma 1/2.” Those who prefer action-adventure and medieval Japan can read “Inuyasha”, or “Mermaid Forest if you like horror. Her short stories in “Rumic World” is also one of my favourites.
I should be flying back to Sydney as we speak, so let me take this opportunity to recommend some vintage manga this week, namely Maison Ikkoku, by the best-selling female manga artist in the world, Rumiko Takahashi.
Now, I would recommend all of Rumiko Takahashi’s work, since her work is almost an institution in Japan, but I settled on Maison Ikkoku simply because it’s the most balanced of all her long-running series (and there are quite a few of them). It’s also one of her older works, with a different tone to her latest ones, which seems geared to a younger audience.
Maison Ikkoku (Rumiko Takahashi)15 Volumes
Maison Ikkoku was one of the first manga translated into English by Viz, and Rumiko Takahashi’s work remains one of the first manga to be exposed to Western audiences. Her work gained a huge following in the states (and in other countries) years before TOKYOPOP ever came to be. Apart from Doraemon, her Urusei Yatsura was among one of the first manga I’ve ever read. Her career spans over 40 years, and she has sold millions and millions of books worldwide. She is, hands down, the most prolific and best-selling female manga artist ever to have lived.
Plot Maison Ikkoku is the name of a run-down, cheap boarding house, where the residents are either broke or crazy. The building is divided into a number of rooms (with no private bathrooms), and in room number 5 lives Yusaku Godai, a ronin, described in Japan as a college applicant who has yet to successfully pass the entrance exams. Godai is a nice guy (if a bit of a loser), and constantly tormented by his crazy neighbours, who thinks the sole purpose of his existence is for them to hold loud, drunk parties in his room.
Godai’s had enough. He was about to move out of the building, when a new manager moves in – an extremely beautiful young woman named Kyoko Otonashii. Since Kyoko will be living at the boarding house as its manager, Godai decides to stay – having fallen in lust at first sight with Kyoko. Kyoko herself is a gentle, caring woman with a quick temper, and the residents quickly discover that she’s actually a widow, who had married her high school teacher as a student. Kyoko is still deeply in love with her late husband, and as Godai gets to know her better, he falls in love with her. However, the road to love isn’t so easy for these two – Godai barely scrapes into unversity, and Kyoko has other suitors. Misunderstandings and the hijinks of the neighbours also make any kind of intimacy difficult. Will Godai succeed in winning Kyoko’s heart?
Why I Recommend this Story Ofcourse Godai marries Kyoko at the end. You don’t write a 15-volume dramedy asking the readers to sympathise with the underdog hero, and then snatch the prize away in the last volume. People would be so angry. Having rooted for Godai and Kyoko for literally years of their lives, watching as Godai gets into college, almost flunks out of college, eventually graduates, attempts to find a job, fails due to bad luck, tries again, and eventually succeeds… wow, the world sure doesn’t make it easy for Godai. Unlike other manga heroes, who seem to naturally fall into leadership roles, possesses special powers, or at least has an an interesting personality or quest to go on, Godai is remarkably ordinary and average. Heck, I would say he’s below average. He struck it lucky with Kyoko.
Which is the whole point of Maison Ikkoku, a funny, poignant story about how the underdog finally wins the day. Finally. Compared to Takahashi’s other more well-known series, like Urusei Yatsura or Ranma 1/2 or even Inuyasha, the trials and tribulations of Godai seems utterly benign. While the story has its fair share of entertaining weirdos, it doesn’t have half the bombast or physical comedy of her other works – and Takahashi is mostly known for her loud, in-your-face, laff-a-minute comedy. No, this story is more rooted in reality than many of her other series, and that’s what makes it stand out. Godai eats cheap food, lives in a crappy place with crappy neighbours, constantly has money worries, ends up working in some dodgy places to make money, and constantly has to fight for almost everything he has. No need for aliens, gender-bending martial artists or monsters to spice things up. Life itself is a struggle enough, and it’s good to see a funny manga that is so rooted in a small moments of day to day life.
The romance between Godai and Kyoko is one that sticks in my mind – they’re both complex and emotional people with a lot of baggage. Kyoko feels she’s betraying her dead husband, and Godai feels he’ll never be good enough for Kyoko; often comparing himself to her late husband and her other suitors. These two drag themselves, kicking and screaming, to the inevitable final conclusion. When all is said and done, it’s a relief to see them finally acknowledge their feelings to each other. They get a lot of help (and hindrance) from Godai’s wacky neighbours, an assortment of working-class types, all of whom have sharply drawn personalities, and are always entertaining. Especially Yotsuya, the guy in room 4, who may or may not have a job, and whose life involves slithering like a snake into Godai’s room to steal food. Some of their antics have to be seen to be believed.
A Takahashi manga is always worth a read, because she’s a powerful story-teller who never fails to make you sympathise with her characters, and capable of finding comedy in the most mundane situations. Maison Ikkoku is a good place to start, as an introduction to her work (most of which is a lot whackier than this story). She excels in ensemble casts, taking extra care in the way they interact with each other, and despite the large numbers of secondary and tertiary characters, always manages to make them interesting and relevant. Her long-running series has a tendency to drag in the middle, and Maison Ikkoku is no exception, but the story ends the way it should end, and loose ends are neatly tied off. Her work is often light-hearted, with great comic timing, a fair amount of Japanese cultural references, and is always memorable.
Takahashi was one of the manga artists I tried to imitate when I was younger, and eventually gave up at, because I realised her voice was unique and inimitable. Even though I don’t follow her current work much, like some other manga artists I’ve recommended on my site, she’s a master worth learning from.
Okay, I’m officially getting to work on the next book “Small Shen” (with Kylie Chan) in November, but I’ll hopefully be doing some work before October (where I head off to NYCC). I’ll talk more about that in a week’s time.
This week I recommend Mononoke. No, not Studio Ghibli’s Mononoke Hime. As worthy as that is of a recommendation, this is a completely different story, and a 12-episode TV series rather than a single movie. This series is obscure but highly underrated, and while it shares half of the more famous movie’s title, it’s simply titled Mononoke, nothing more.
Mononoke (2007 – Toei Animation) 12 Episodes + 1 Short Story
Mononoke is an unusual TV series, not least because of its visual look. It began life as the third tale in a series of short Japanese horror stories, called Ayakashi. The first tale was famous Japanese horror tale Yotsuya Kaidan (Strange Tale of Yotsuya), the second was Tenshu Monogatari (Tale of the Goddess), and the last was Bakeneko (Monster Cat). Bakeneko was the one which introduced the enigmatic main character of Mononoke, a nameless, wandering medicine-seller who appears to do sidelines in exorcisms. Being the most interesting of the three tales, both due to its story and its art direction, audiences quickly demanded a new TV series based on the medicine-seller, and that was Mononoke.
Plot
“Mononoke” is a term for Japanese demons, and unlike conventional demons, the Mononoke in this series are often supernatural phenomenon created by people who died in unhappy circumstances, or who otherwise have grievances. The creatures take physical form, and is fully capable of doing real harm.
Enter the mysterious albino-elf character with face-paint and a snazzy fashion sense. This nameless, wandering merchant claims to sell medicine, but it’s really a cover for exorcisms he performs on the Mononoke he encounters in each episode. Despite having an impressive demon-busting form and an exorcism sword, the power of the medicine-seller is very limited. Since Mononoke usually have some kind of human origin (often psychological), it’s impossible to exorcise them until you discover the source of the phenomenon, and the reasons for their manifestation. For the medicine-seller, this involves finding the Katachi (shape), the Makoto (truth), and the Kotowari (reason) of the Mononoke.
Unlike conventional demon-busting shows (which tend to be action-oriented), this show is like a detective story with psychological puzzles at its core, all viewed through a Japanese supernatural lens.
Why I Recommend this Story Mononoke is a gem. In both writing and art direction. Even if you’ve only seen a few screen caps of the series, you will probably already notice the bold, experimental style. The series looks like someone crossed traditional Japanese art with psychedelic art, adding a dash of Art Nouveau, Gustav Klimt, and surrealism along the way. I probably haven’t listed the wide range of art styles that this series sampled from, to create its unique look. Either way, it was a dream to look at, and its difference to the “conventional” anime look should be celebrated. For once, the experiment not only didn’t fail, but was a dramatic success.
All the more reason to marvel at the way this artistic style came to be. From what I can tell, the original series Ayakashi was a low-budget thing, and no one really had high expectations of Bakeneko, especially since top-billing went to Yotsuya Kaidan (famed illustrator Yoshitaka Amano was working on the character designs for that). I’m guessing the animators on Bakeneko thought, whatever, we can try something new with this since no one cares. Instead, Yotsuya Kaidan was a dull disappointment, and none of the lovely character designs by Amano translated well into anime. Conversely, Bakeneko was the triumph, and it was way more interesting to watch and look at than the other two stories.
The stories were also complex and engaging. You won’t expect a demon-busting story to be so cerebral and psychological, but these are – and many are also intensely internal. In every episode, there’s a number of other characters involved apart from the medicine-seller, and discovering their labyrinth psychological turmoil is part of the series – and the medicine-seller’s – job. Mind you, this is a horror series after all, and some of the stories get pretty grotesque in plumbing the depths of the human condition. The art can sometimes reflect the ugliness of the situation, but it’s never exploitative or truly disgusting. The writing also has a literary quality to it – by that, I mean it seems free of a lot of cliches and archetypes that an industry (in this case, the anime industry) often builds up over time. Like Kurosagi Corpse Delivery Service, I wonder if the writer comes from outside the anime/manga industry (in my mind, that is always a plus).
Perhaps the one “criticism” I have of Mononoke is the story-telling. It’s opaque, a tad jerky, filled with strange camera angles and is often straight-up trippy. But then, given the art-style and the subject matter, I shouldn’t have expected any other kind of story-telling that would have worked with the stories and the art. Mononoke is an unusual, strange take on a tired genre, and to use traditional methods of story-telling would have been a death-knell for the “feel” it was trying to evoke. It’s not, after all, a story for someone looking for something mainstream. No one I know had any trouble following the story, but its unapologetic weirdness will probably put off a lot of people who want something more… conventional. Average. Typical. If you want a more “normal” demon-busting story, stay the heck away from Mononoke – it’ll blow your mind in ways you’re not prepared for.
Lastly, the story is very, very heavily Japanese in origin, meaning that if you’re not familiar with some aspects of Edo-era Japanese culture, you may miss out on a few things. You don’t need much to understand the series, but someone with background knowledge will get more out of it. The story also ends at 12 episodes, which is a crying shame. In some ways I’m grateful that no one wants to run the series into the ground to milk more money, but I also wish more industry people will take notice of its artistic triumphs and act accordingly.
Well, I am back from Brisbane, and back at the working table, ready to work on my next book. I can’t say much about it yet, except that it’s a prequel to a series of best-selling fantasy novels, by Kylie Chan. It’s a Chinese-fantasy story, so I’m going to be in my element. So excited to be able to draw Chinese fantasy! I need to sort out the schedule with the publisher first, so you’ll hear more about it when that’s done and I start work.
As promised, this week I recommend an oldie but a goodie – Hikaru no Go. A manga about… the ancient Asian board game of Go. Drawn by one of my favourite artists (Takeshi Obata) this sits right in the middle of his work to date, so if you’ve been following Obata over his long career, this manga shows his biggest evolution in style. Obata has done other, better-known works since then (such as Death Note and Bakuman), but I assure you, Hikaru no Go is heads and shoulders above his other works.
Hikaru no Go (Takeshi Obata) 23 volumes
It’s impossible to mention Hikaru no Go without talking about its artist. Takeshi Obata is a manga artist I’ve followed since the beginning of his career, since I was 12. At the time, I picked up some random manga magazine, and read some goofy gag story about a meddling robotic grandfather (yeah, you read that right). This is unusual. Normally, I dislike gag stories, but this artist was… different. Special. He had good comic timing, a pleasant style of story-telling, and I really liked the characters. The art style resembled the artist who does Magical Taruruto-kun (a wacky gag manga with a style I dislike), but this artist’s style was inexplicably acceptable to me. I made a mental note of this guy, to see what else he has done. And then I totally forgot about it.
Unknown to me, that work was the debut work of Takeshi Obata, and was called Cyborg Jii-chan G. He had just started working for hit manga magazine Shounen Jump, and so talented was he that even some random 12 year-old knew he was the real deal. The editors at Shounen Jump clearly did too, and he was soon plucked from the ghetto of gag, and paired up with a number of writers in the hope that he can deliver a hit. It took him 9 years before he found it (with writer Yumi Hotta) – and that super-selling hit was Hikaru no Go.
Plot
Shindou Hikaru is an ordinary 6th grader scrabbling in his grandfather’s attic one day, when he comes across an old Go board. Hikaru doesn’t know (or care) about Go, but he noticed that this board had a blood-stain that no one else but him can see. The reason for that soon becomes clear – the Go board is haunted by a ghost named Sai, a highly-skilled Go player who committed suicide 1000 years ago. No one else can see Sai but Hikaru, and Sai has no desires other than to play Go, and now that he’s haunting Hikaru, badgers him non-stop to play Go on his behalf. With little choice in the matter, Hikaru gives in and agrees, and begins to frequent Go clubs so he can play on Sai’s behalf.
On his first trip, he meets a young Go prodigy named Touya Akira, who he develops a rivalry/friendship with. Eventually, Hikaru grows tired of being only Sai’s proxy, especially when he’s the only one in the room who can’t understand what’s happening on the Go board right infront of him. Immersed in a world full of people passionate about Go, Hikaru starts to take an interest in the game, and begins to play for himself. He’s terrible at first, but under Sai’s tutelage, comes to realise his own innate talent for the game, to the point where he decides to become a professional Go player. And so the story follows him, through his trials and tribulations, as he struggles to become a great Go player.
Why I Recommend this Story Hikaru no Go means “Hikaru’s Go”, but is really the story of two people – Hikaru, and his arch-rival Touya Akira. Akira is a boy Hikaru’s age, a Go prodigy who appears in the first volume as Hikaru’s opponent. Sai plays him through Hikaru and soundly defeats him, something that has never happened to Akira before. Naturally, Akira thinks that Hikaru was the one who had so easily beaten him, and tries to initiate a re-match. This sets into motion something resembling a game of tag, fraught with obsession, strong character drama and suspense. For those who think Hikaru no Go is about the relationship between Hikaru and Sai, you probably missed the true heart of the story. While the relationship between Hikaru and Sai is characterised well, it pales in comparison to the passion Hikaru and Akira create in each other – for the game of Go.
Alright, you can read all kinds of homoerotic subtext in the above paragraph, but Go, like chess, is about a meeting of like-minds. You either ‘get’ the game or you don’t – and if you have a mind built for Go, you’re in a separate structural universe, speaking a different language. The people in this story converse with each other over a Go board, in ways that words can’t express. A Go game needs two people to play after all (preferably both living), and Hikaru and Akira’s “relationship” exists entirely within the world of Go. They have little in common outside their game, the same as most of the people who live in their world, so it’s a testament to the importance of Go in their lives, that these people form a community with a playing board at its centre. Go is the glue which binds them all together, and what this story excels at is showing what it’s like to live, work and breath in the narrow world of competitive Go-playing.
All this passion and single-minded devotion. Does this mean that it’s one of those dreaded… sports manga? People who read my recommendations section will probably know that I can’t stand sports manga – that special genre replete with cliches, grandiose speeches, and people silhouetted against the setting sun. Go is a game that is won by calculating the number of stones you take from your opponent, so the “matches” have a sporting quality to them, but like that great basketball manga Slamdunk, Hikaru no Go manages to gracefully sidestep all the pitfalls, and be about its characters. Yes, there is enough technical information in the manga about Go for you to grasp all the basic strategies and important rules. No, there’s not so much that you won’t understand it if you don’t care about Go. Like the very best sports manga, it’s a manga about people who happen to be into Go, as opposed to a manga about Go with people filling in as actors.
And it’s a story that is told in a subtle, realistic way, rather than bombastic and fantastical. Only Takeshi Obata can make people laying down Go stones seem like action-suspense, but Sai is the only supernatural element in the story. Like Genshiken, the characters may not seem realistic, but they have the feel of the real. They’re devoted to Go, but they also have to fill out tax applications, go to boring charity events, and deal with lost-in-translation issues with Go players from other countries. Top Go players sometimes go on a losing streak, have their confidence shaken, is plagued by bad luck, is hit by health issues, is followed around by journalists… all the sort of things you would expect with being a professional in an insular industry with its fans, hangers-on, schools, clubs, championships, governing bodies and celebrities. All of it drawn in great detail, probably based on real photographs.
All this activity is anchored by the game of “tag” between Hikaru and Akira, an undercurrent that runs through the entire series, and comes to a calm and satisfying conclusion that isn’t really a conclusion. But you wouldn’t expect there to be a conclusion in the traditional sense, would you? At the beginning of the story, both Hikaru and Akira are 12, and Akira mistakes Sai for Hikaru. A re-match ends up seeing Akira play Hikaru (without Sai’s help), and Akira is horrified and insulted at seeing how badly Hikaru played. Hikaru spends the rest of the series trying to raise his level up to Akira. The end of the series sees both Hikaru and Akira as 15 year-olds, with an equal level of skill, acknowledging each other as proper rivals, a dynamic that will probably last for the rest of their lives.
It’s just as well that the story ends here, at volume 23. It was popular, and could have easily continued, but it ended at the right place (a miracle, in manga terms). Everything that needs to be said about Hikaru and Akira, and the people that revolve around them, has been said, and said very well. Rarely has a story that is so encompassing about a world and its inhabitants been ended so perfectly.
