You Mean There’s More than One?

Kransom pointed me over to the Amazon page for the Genshiken novel, where one review in particular caught our eyes.

I really like Genshiken. I mean, REALLY like it. I own the comics in both Japanese and English, I have all the DVDs, and I regularly read blogs with the names of the characters in the titles. I’m prepared to give a LOT of slack to anything with the official seal of Genshiken on it, because they’ve earned that credit.

Now who could they be talking about, hmm?

By the way, I can’t really recommend the Genshiken novel to Genshiken fans either. It’s more Twilight Zone than it is a story about otaku.

If you’re reading this post, Gen Felal, then I’m here to give you an internet high five.

There Sure is a Lot to Talk About

When it comes to presenting, while nothing truly prepares you for the main event, you still get a lot of mileage from just practicing in front of an invisible audience. That’s what Sub and I did for our mahjong panel today, and it really helped us a lot.

From the very start, we were well aware of one of the big problems of running a mahjong panel: there is simply too much information for an hour. But even after cutting a number of things from the presentation, important ones mind you, we still found ourselves eating up too much time. We really had to get down to the meat and bones of what we wanted to convey, but at the same time were conscious of the fact that being too boney-meaty might not get across some of the fun of mahjong. Still, after practicing a few times, I think we pretty much have it down. In addition to letting us adjust the slides for better flow and such, it also gave us a much better idea of what we really wanted to say.

Compared to the Ogiue panel, the content of the mahjong panel has to be razor-sharp in its focus. It does not forgive going off on tangents. But I think we’re ready for the challenge.

Showcase Your Manga Abilities: Manga as/in Essay

This is a call-out to all of you artists, writers, and scholars who believe in the power of manga to convey ideas, and want to spread this belief to others.

The Modern East Asia Research Centre at Leiden University is sponsoring a new series of competitions for the next five years, with the goal of exploring the creative and expressive power of manga.

The first project up is  “Manga as/in Essay,” wherein contributors will create graphic essays about the theme of “ox herding” as a metaphor for the path towards Enlightenment in Zen Buddhism. It’s a heady and perhaps difficult topic, but that’s part of the fun, and I think it’ll be quite  interesting to see what happens when the imaginations and ideas of thousands(?) of contributors are focused upon a single specific idea such as this.

For the most part, contributors are free to interpret the topic however they choose. One page or 50 pages, verbose or silent, all manners of writing and drawing styles are welcome.

Of course, this is a competition, and there will be prizes for the winners: 1000 Euros for 1st place, and 500 Euros apiece for 2nd and 3rd place. On top of that, the winners will be published in an academic journal. According to the promotional material, the criteria for winning is as follows:

-originality of expression
-power of expression
-style of expression
-quality of imagery
-overall effectiveness

So keep them in mind as you create your projects.

I’m going to link you the project page one more time because there is a lot of stuff to read about it and I don’t want anyone jumping into it only to realize they made some serious error. It also explains what exactly the “ox herding” thing is if you’re completely unfamiliar with it like I am.

The deadline is October 31st, 2010, so get cracking!

The Hidamari Sketches

While looking through my recently-acquired volumes of Hidamari Sketch, I found myself enjoying the comic well enough, but gravitating more towards the interstitial drawings that populate the pages in between the 4-panel comics.

“Wow,” I thought to myself upon first noticing them, “These drawings are really nice and and have excellent line quality to them. I kind of wish the whole comic was drawn this way.”

But then I wondered about how that would actually affect Hidamari Sketch. Part of why I like a looser, heavier brush style is that it gives off a good sense of vibrancy and energy; it’s really visceral in a way but also can be extremely elegant. However, all of that has to do with the drawing itself and connecting to the artist, as opposed to the art style being a way to connect with the characters. Given that Hidamari Sketch is a pleasant slice-of-life story, soothing like a spoonful of honey, drawing that much attention to the hand behind the art might not be the best thing for it.

I can still hope though.

Which Genshiken Character Likes Soccer the Most?

Tanaka.

What Do You Mean Not All Anime Involve Philosophical Discussions?

When it comes to anime and manga academia, I commonly see two mistakes.

First is when an unusual work that is elevated by critics and scholars as being artistically significant is considered indicative of other works in anime and manga. Oshii Mamoru’s Ghost in the Shell movies are the most frequently misused in this respect, and while I do like Oshii’s work (including his recent film The Sky Crawlers), he’s pretty much considered an anomaly. And even though he’s much more celebrated and popular, I think Miyazaki is the same way; his works are almost a universe unto themselves when it comes to the Japanese animation industry. If you’re going to analyze the nature and life of the Japanese animation industry, do you look at the rare exception or do you look at the more common works, the middle-of-the-road stuff? I’m not saying you should enjoy crap, of course. However, I think that while the former can give you a good idea of what anime can do, the latter gives you a far clearer image of where anime is.

The second is sort of a mirror image of the first problem. Here, run-of-the-mill works with little to say creatively are considered shining examples of artistic brilliance. Shows that served little purpose outside of making some money and are quickly forgotten due to mediocrity are carted about and displayed as if they were seminal works in the history of anime. For example, Seitokai no Ichizon might be presented as a brilliant portrayal of the difficulties in gender relations in education among students in Japan, when it’s more just a show designed to appeal to otaku and has some entertainment value.

But wait, you might be thinking, “How dare you tell us what’s significant and what’s not! You’re not the boss of us!” But I’m not saying that at all. Ghost in the Shell can say a lot of things about the anime industry. The only thing is that because GitS is an exception, you should probably study it as an exception. And I do think Seitokai no Ichizon‘s story is worth analysis to some extent, but you have to be aware of its origins as a light novel, as well as the otaku subculture it’s trying to appeal to, before you really try to present its ideas as indicative of anything at all.

While I do believe in personal interpretations quite a bit, postmodernism can be a terribly dangerous weapon.

Box vs Sphere: What is a Well-Developed Character?

What is a one-dimensional character? What is a well-developed character? And how is it that two people viewing the same exact anime can reach entirely different judgments on whether or not its characters feel “real” or not? Those are the questions that have most recently been on my mind.

It makes me ponder the differences in the way people perceive the world and the people around them, as well as how those perceptions are then translated into the world of fiction. What do some people prioritize in their concept and understanding of a “three-dimensional personality” that runs so counter to the opinions and values of others?

Personally speaking, I find characters to be particularly well-developed in personality when I can sense that there is something more to them than what they are saying. It’s not like I want characters who are saying one thing and thinking another, however. It’s more about showing or at least hinting at a thought process behind those words. Genshiken, Eureka Seven, and Toradora! for example are particularly good at this, in that you can see the transmission from personal desire to choice of words getting filtered through the characters’ own personalities and values. But then I know there are plenty of people out there who dislike these series while accusing the shows of the very opposite of why I praise them. So again, what causes this conflict?

Many times when a character is seen as “artificially deep,” the accusation leveled at them is that they are simply there to fulfill a checklist. This isn’t necessarily wrong or unwarranted, and even I’ve used the “checklist” criticism before and have no real regrets doing so, but the question then becomes, how did these checklists form and who is responsible for them? To what extent are those negative checklists generated by one’s own standards of realism and authenticity?

What is more important for a well-developed character, that they start off with an almost palpable personality that reveals a heart and mind in them, or that they grow their hearts and minds over the long term?

What is more important, what you let the audience see, or what you let the audience infer for themselves? If you keep on revealing more and more angles, is the purpose to imply a sphere, or simply a many-sided polygon?

And how much of it is tapping into the familiar vs the unfamiliar?

It’s food for thought I haven’t really digested myself yet.

You wa Culture Shock: Peepo Choo Volume 1

Felipe Smith is an American artist who found his way to Japan and became serialized in an actual manga magazine. His resulting comic, Peepo Choo, is a fusion of the two cultures, feeling like both and neither at the same time, but unlike many others actually manages to succeed in creating something unique.

Peepo Choo follows a young otaku, Milton, living in the south side of Chicago. Forced to hide his anime fandom to survive the harsh urban environment, Milton finds reprieve in anime, particularly his favorite title, Peepo Choo and sees Japan as an ideal paradise from which he can escape his life in Chicago. When he wins a ticket to Japan, he sees it as an opportunity to really be himself, but learns that his dreams and reality don’t quite line up.

The first volume of Peepo Choo can create an odd initial impression. The art is very in-your-face. The heavy amount of sexual content and violence can seem out of place even knowing that there are plenty of sexual and violent manga out there, and the way in which it makes fun of geeks can be a turn-off for the geeks reading it. However, there are reasons for all of this, and it’s not simply to offend everyone.

Peepo Choo appears to glamorize sex and violence, but does so in a way that also simultaneously removes much of the fetishism in both. The “Peepo Choo” meta-series itself that Milton so adores resembles superflat artwork crossbred with Pokemon, looking not like anime so much as the impression someone completely unfamiliar with it might get from watching an episode. And while Milton comes across as pathetic, he’s also a very good and righteous person in his own way.

Most, if not all of the characters in Peepo Choo are horribly flawed in different ways. Paralleling Milton is a yakuza member who has so fallen in love with the “American gangsta” aesthetic that he has adopted a wardrobe (cowboy hat included), attitude, and name (“Morimoto Rockstar”) that is a garish parody of the lifestyle, essentially trying to obtain the life that Milton is trying to escape. Supermodel Reiko has an as-of-yet unexplained violent streak to her. Comic book store owner Jody lords it over his customers by telling them how pathetic they are, but is only covering up his own insecurities. Everyone wants to be more than they are, or at the very least feel like there are two conflicting sides to them.

Yet, despite all of these human faults, all of the characters show some degree of goodness and altruism through their otherwise broken personalities. And so while the message one might initially take from Peepo Choo is “hopelessness,” there is also a glimmer of progress and growth in all of them, or at least the potential for such. In a way, it reminds me of Ressentiment, which also has a similar theme of the beauty in ugliness.

Is Peepo Choo going to be uplifting, or is it going to be a heel to the face of fans? Honestly, as of Volume 1 I cannot tell. The story can easily go in either direction, and while I hope for the former I can’t make any guarantees.

Pick up Peepo Choo Volume 1 if you feel like something different. It’s not like any manga you’ve ever seen, and it also goes to show that perhaps the way to achieving that manga dream is to do something unique.

Thanks to Vertical Inc.’s Ed Chavez for providing this copy.

I’m Not in the MMF But Check It Out Anyway

The Manga Moveable Feast makes a cultural shift this month, transforming into the Manhwa Moveable Feast  in order to focus on the Color trilogy, a series by Kim Dong Hwa about a young girl in Korea on the cusp of womanhood and her subsequent growth.

Having only ever read the first of the three books, I decided not to participate this time around. Still, I know that this title is different from the general marketed image of “manhwa” in the United States, where it comes across as just a more illustrative variation of Japanese manga.

Manhwa simply doesn’t have the same level of exposure that manga does; even I have to admit I know little about it as a whole. Thus, my hope is that the Color series and this inter-blog discussion inspire people, including myself, to try and learn more about it.

You can start at the introductory post here, and then make your way through the archive of participatory posts. Of course, watch out for spoilers as some of these posts will contain some thorough analyses of the series.

Doodle Doodle Dee