I first learned about the influential manga artist Tsuge Yoshiharu thanks to that seminal book on Japanese comics, Manga! Manga! by Fred Schodt. In his goal of showing how diverse manga can be, Fred includes images of Tsuge’s most famous work, Nejishiki, also known as “Screw Style.” Now, thanks to Drawn & Quarterly, I’ve gotten the chance to read it in English, as well as other works by Tsuge. 

I had originally written this review with plans to eventually publish it when the time felt right, but then news came that Tsuge had died at the age of 88 on March 3. So here it is.

Tsuge’s work is hard to describe. It’s never straightforward, and each story seems to exist in the space where rationality ends and passion begins. His characters aren’t “characters” in the traditional sense, but rather agents of deep-seated desires. They’re dark and succumb to their (often sexual) vices, and feel like people who are meant to be relatable, though far from admirable. Originally published in Garo, Nejishiki has become practically the go-to example of experimental comics-making in Japan. It’s not surprising to see why Tsuge’s comics would make an impact back in the 1960s and 70s. 

What is perhaps surprising is that they can still shock today. In a sense, the changing morals and ethics of society over the past few decades make the questionable decisions all the more eyebrow-raising, as well as thought-provoking. Even putting aside the sex, violence, and sexual violence (none of which are portrayed with excessive detail, yet feel more visceral), the seeming density is haunting and reminds me more of something like the ambient moments in Serial Experiments Lain or Evangelion.

Reading Nejishiki also puts another creator in a new light for me: Panpanya. It’s clear now that the author of Invitation from a Crab and Guyabano Holiday draws from Tsuge in a big way, whether directly or otherwise. The simplistic character design juxtaposed with the detailed backgrounds, the surreal and seemingly non-sequitur stories—the big differences are just that Panpanya’s “avatar” is cuter (one might say kawaii) and that the narratives are relatively clearer. 

There’s a long essay by Ryan Holmberg in the back that I’ve been slowly working through. In it, he gives the friendship and working relationship between Tsuge and Mizuki Shigeru (author of Kitaro) a lot of attention, describing how the two mutually benefited from each other. Tsuge worked as an assistant to Mizuki, used some of Mizuki’s other assistants for his own work, and exchanged ideas. What I think is fascinating about this connection is that Tsuge is basically the patron saint of unorthodox manga, whereas Mizuki has been a household name for over half a century. While the comparison I’m about to make isn’t quite the same, it reminds me of how the two directors of the Sailor Moon anime ended up on two unique paths, one highly experimental (Ikuhara) and the other conventional yet still profound (Sato). 

Drawn & Quarterly also published a picture diary by Tsuge’s wife, Fujiwara Maki, which details their life together with their young son. In contrast to the image of her husband as this legendary figure of Japanese comics, Fujiwara’s portrayal often paints him in a less glowing light, especially when it came to his abusive misogyny towards her. Fujiwara, who passed away in 1999, was an avant-garde actor herself before having to abandon that career to be a housewife. Tsuge himself even said that Fujiwara meeting him was probably ultimately to her detriment.

Still, Nejishiki is worth at least knowing, but even beyond the historical significance, it holds up in its own way. Tsuge’s manga result in art that can be challenging to approach, and the act of grappling with it can be its own reward.