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Friday, September 3, 2010
Pretty Pictures
Fall is largely over where I live. By that, I mean the leaves have all fallen and been raked away, and everything is sort of stark and dingy. It’s handy to have something lovely to look at until the snow comes (assuming global warming permits that phenomenon), and publishers have been quite generous with pretty pictures of late.
Few recent releases seem as dedicated to appealing visuals as Kozue Amano’s Aqua (Tokyopop). A young girl named Akari has left Earth for what used to be Mars before overly enthusiastic terraforming left it mostly covered with water. Akari dreams of becoming an undine, or gondolier, in Neo-Venezia, and who can blame her? The prospect of boating around the canals of a gorgeous city and introducing visitors to its wonders is tremendously tempting.
There’s virtually no narrative tension in the book, but that really isn’t its purpose. Amano has gentler intentions. The small spine of plot involves Akari moving through her undine apprenticeship, though there’s nothing like the ups and downs you might find in the average shônen series. Aqua is more about sailing through dreamy cityscapes at a leisurely, welcoming pace. The company is pleasant enough, and Amano has a nice way with gently whimsical comedy. Most important, though, is Amano’s richly detailed rendering of Neo-Venezia. It’s a setting that allows you to lose yourself in an entirely undemanding way, and that’s always a welcome change of pace.
The latest entry in Dark Horse’s manhwa line, Mi-Kyung Yun’s Bride of the Water God, is a visually sumptuous tour of a godly realm through the eyes of a young girl named Soah. She was chosen as a human sacrifice to end her village’s lengthy drought and, to her surprise, winds up living with a soap operatic pantheon instead of dead at the bottom of the sea. Aside from the rather significant shock that she isn’t deceased, Soah encounters a number of other surprises. Not least of them is her intended groom, the water god Habaek, who has a childlike aspect. Overall though, Soah’s new life seems to be rather undemanding, and she keeps her feelings about being sacrificed under tight control.
As introductory volumes go, Bride of the Water god is more undercurrent than event. It’s a rather leisurely tour of Habaek’s realm, introducing Soah to its citizens and her new surroundings. A few secrets are revealed, and a number of likely suitors present themselves, but Yun isn’t in too much of a rush to get the meat of the story underway. This is perfectly acceptable, as the ravishing illustrations provide plenty of distraction. The arrival of Habaek’s mother, a Dynasty-esque dragon lady of the first order, promises plenty of meaty plots in the future, and I hope that Soah’s resentment of her fate, which seems to be simmering just under the surface, plays into future developments. It’s already a great-looking book, and there seems to be lots of juicy drama just around the corner.
On the flip side, Masashi Tanaka’s Gon (CMX) is all event, no undercurrent. Wordless, brilliantly drawn stories follow a small dinosaur as he encounters a rich range of other species. These encounters run to the confrontational, as it’s a very bad idea to interrupt the titular dinosaur when he’s eating or napping. Gon is amiable enough when unprovoked, but alas, he’s pretty easy to provoke.
The stories have the mad energy of classic Road Runner shorts, but Tanaka eschews any serious attempts at anthropomorphism. None of the wildlife on display needs a sideline as a mad scientist to keep things moving, just the bad luck to irritate Gon or the good fortune to be bullied by something bigger when Gon is around. Gon isn’t entirely reduced to a survival-of-the-fittest mentality, and he can demonstrate a bit of a protective streak. It always seems fairly clear that his standing as the toughest creature around gives him the leisure to indulge in the odd moment of jungle justice (or arctic or forest or savannah or wherever he happens to be in a given chapter).
And Tanaka is an insanely skilled illustrator. Between the energy of the mad chases, the lush landscapes, and the meticulously drawn animals, I can’t even imagine how many pencils and pens died in service of this series. They were all worth it for the final result.
Saying a comic by Jiro Taniguchi is attractive is kind of like noting that water is slightly damp. It’s pure duh, because he’s one of the most gifted illustrators alive. Whether it’s the suburban ramble of The Walking Man, period piece The Times of Botchan, or the gritty pulp of Benkei in New York or Hotel Harbour View, no setting or scenario seems to daunt him. He isn’t a bit undone by any of the varied material in The Ice Wanderer (Fanfare/Ponent Mon) either.
That said, this isn’t my favorite example of Taniguchi’s work, which is basically a matter of personal preference. Two of the six stories in this volume enthusiastically embrace the tone and content of Jack London’s wilderness adventures. (An Inuit saves hapless prospectors from certain death in one, and a party is hunted by wolves in the other.) They’re beautifully drawn and nicely paced, but I’m rarely the audience for muskets-and-mountains drama. The third story (a hunter tries to avenge the death of his son at the hands of a bear) is in the same vein, though without the direct references to London.
The second half of the book is much more to my taste, lacking the aggressive man-versus-nature posturing of the first. My favorite offering is probably the most out of place. “Shôkarô” introduces a budding manga-ka and the strange neighbors who all live in what was once a brothel. It’s a very well-crafted look at a specific period in a young person’s life, wandering in that strangely purposeful way that Taniguchi executes so nicely. There’s also a story of young love set in a fishing village, and a strangely moving story of a researcher’s relationship with a grizzled old whale. (The latter story is actually kind of ridiculous if you think about it for more than a minute, but its heart is in the right place.)
Really, the pleasure of seeing Taniguchi’s work almost always overcomes finicky issues of content. His immersive settings alone are generally worth the price of admission, and his natural character design and body language, which function equally well in slice-of-life or action-packed stories, never fails to impress.
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April 22, 2008:
February 4, 2008:
November 20, 2006:
A Comic-Con without the Captain
