The plot is simple: the new producer at 765 Productions is tasked with turning the company’s 13 talents into bona fide idol stars. Pretty much every character archetype is covered when you have 13 future idols available. Not to mention a female manager and office assistant. There is something for every otaku. Which also leads to the biggest flaw of the series: way too many characters. At best, a character gets two episodes to develop her personality.  Usually, though, she only gets one, and this leads to some very flimsy characters.

Surprisingly though, that was really the most notable flaw. Several of the characters arcs were actually fairly interesting (albeit predictable), and found myself enjoying at least half of the episodes if not more at basic cheap entertainment level.

The IDOLM@STER really is a pretty generic show, but for me it became a guilty pleasure.  The singing was frequently pretty mediocre (or cringe-worthy in a few cases), but the songs were catchy, and the dancing animation was rather fun to watch.  Since it wasn’t heavy on fanservice, I find myself wondering how well it did with its targeted audience.  I’m sure they made up with any lacking fanservice in the merchandising though.

In summary: a fluffy guilty pleasure show that’s hard to recommend, but also isn’t bad, so I wouldn’t suggest avoiding it entirely.  After the first episode it is pretty much exactly what you’d think it would be, so if the plot summary sounds good, you’ll probably enjoy it.  If it doesn’t interest you, then go ahead and skip it–you’re not missing out on a hidden gem.

Pure Trance is one of Mizuno’s slightly earlier works, coming out before her twisted fairy tale series (Cinderalla, Princess Mermaid, etc).  It exudes a freshness and coolness that I haven rarely found in a manga that doesn’t actually take itself seriously.  Everything about this volume feels tongue in cheek, and that’s where Mizuno shines.

The story of Pure Trance is that after another World War, everyone is forced to live underground and consume pills for sustenance.  Some people have become addicted to these Pure Trance pills and must seek treatment for their addiction.  The nurses at Center 102 treat said patients, or at least attempt to. It’s hard to accomplish much when their psychotic director will decide to kill a patient or torture the nurses randomly.  Pretty out there, right?  Throw in all of the little trivia (just about every life form or neat toy or piece of furniture gets an explanation box) and you get a manga that’s disturbingly witty.  It goes well beyond over-the-top and revels in its permissiveness.  It at once exudes femininity and putridity–cute and horrific all at the same time.  The director has big shining eyes that sparkle…while at the same time wielding a whip and having hypodermic needles sticking out of her.  It’s this contrast that works so well.

Pure Trance is really best enjoyed for the crazy art and random ideas rather than the story.  Honestly, it is quite disjointed as if Ms. Mizuno wanted to be sure to cram in every random idea that popped into her head even if it had no relevance to what was going on.  So if you’re looking for cohesiveness, it’s best to look elsewhere.  There is no denying, however, that Pure Trance is visually stunning in its uniqueness and that its dark humor shines throughout the course of the work.

If you’re a fan of independent comics, I definitely recommend giving this a try. It’s well out of print and a bit hard to find, but there are at least a few libraries around that will lend it via interlibrary loan (that’s how I got it), so check with your local librarian for assistance.

The search for a “prince” based on a trinket left behind is a pretty common troupe in shoujo manga, but as overused as it might be, it doesn’t seem to take too much away from the story. After all, it is a classic device, used long before comics were popular in such fairy tales as Cinderella.  However, it does begin setting the tone for Kitchen Princess: predictable, but warmly familiar so it can mostly be overlooked.

It’s some of the other tropes, such as the “poor” girl in a rich school being bullied, all the boys falling in love with her and causing all the girls to hate her that get tiresome quickly. However, the cast of characters help ease some of the agitation from seeing the same story yet again.  Najika is extremely optimistic (she’s somewhat a combination of Usagi of Sailor Moon and Tsukushi of Boys over Flowers) but she occasionally suffers from doubts and tough decisions which keep her from being completely unbelievable. The various love interests have fairly set personalities (the serious intellectual, the supposedly care-free athlete, and the aggressive snob), but thankfully each archetype is slightly softened, allowing there to be at least a hint of mystique to them.

Where Kitchen Princess really shines, however, is not the story or characters, but rather in the art and the decision to include recipes of the foods featured in each chapter.  The art isn’t terribly unusual, you can definitely pinpoint it as a mid-2000s shoujo series, but it’s always carefully drawn with a great deal of attention to details.  And as for the recipes, it’s a very unique idea to include them, allowing readers to try to recreate the foods constructed by their beloved characters.

In the end, the series is utterly predictable, and yet, it doesn’t feel as if that’s a problem. You know who she’s going go choose from volume 1, but the path getting there is warm and familiar, like a trip down memory lane of shoujo manga. It isn’t tedious, but rather enjoyable. And even knowing what the ending would be, it was fun reading it. A nice addition to the reading list of any shoujo romance fan.

Clearly written for women and for those who want an alternative/experimental art-style, Kinderbook has many outstanding characteristics, but also many flaws.

The style of storytelling is succinct, pulling in a range of emotions in just a few short pages. The stories also allow the reader to draw her own conclusions as to their meanings as well.  Though the stories all tie into concepts of love, they tackel very different aspects of it from old love, new love, jealousy, agape, and obsession.  Beyond love, other topics are touched upon, including the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center in 2001 and how that affected the psyches of those living as far from ground zero as Japan.

Strong as it was, Kinderbooks flaws were nearly as numerous.  Takahama’s drawings often went beyond “experimental” to just plain sloppy.  It was almost impossible to tell which character was speaking when the details of the outfit changed from image to image, and facial features were blurred to the point that a man and woman talking looked nearly identical.  This also made it a bit hard to follow the story.  I could guess the point she was getting across, but since I might have confused a character, maybe I got it completely wrong.  Also, I’m not sure if it’s the fault of the translator or the fault of the artist, but the dialogue was often really choppy and difficult to read.  I’m not sure if Takahama just writes that way, or if the translator was going for too literal of a translation.  Plus, the speech bubbles seemed to be inconsistent. Sometimes you read them one way, another time they had to be read in a different order for the discussion to make any sense.  This made reading the volume a little confusing and tedious.

Overall, I want to like Monokuro Kinderbook more than I actually did.  I like the topics that were tackled and the stories told, but the art was too off-putting and broke up the overall flow of the story.  It really can’t be recommend for anyone but those who prefer the alternative/experimental to the mainstream. And even then, it might not rank as high as other manga that fall into the same categories.  Still, I did like it, and I am glad I read it. It just didn’t quite live up to my expectations.

Wandering Son is a subtle (and as others have said, sensitive) look at the complex subject matter of transgendered youth.  The main protagonist is Nitori, a young boy who secretly dreams being a girl. His close friend, Takatsuki, is a girl who portrays herself as a tomboy in general, but wishes she could be a boy.

The first volume really serves as an introduction to the characters. In addition to the transgendered youths above, there is also Chiba, their classmate who is fascinated by the idea of Nitori dressing as a girl, and Nitori’s older sister.  It also begins to very gently introduce Nitori and Takatsuki’s desires.  Nitori’s wish to try on a dress is deeply repressed, but pushed upon him by female classmates who sense he isn’t all that opposed.  Meanwhile, Takatsuki is so embarrassed by her own issues that she goes across town when she dresses as a boy so as to avoid being seen by people she knows. She also loses control when someone points out that her getting her period means she really is a girl.

The art of Wandering Son is very simple, and almost a bit comic strip-like.  For those familiar with the anime, it lacks that soft fluidity and shadows, making it seem rather amateurish.  Still, the slowly unfolding story is engaging, and it is very realistic in its portrayal of gender issues for elementary school children. Tomboys are still fine at that time, and it’s still amusing for a boy to be girlish.  The boys in the class split their time between being grossed out at the idea of dressing like a girl, and eagerly joining the “drag show” version of a play where all characters are played by opposite genders.  And any boy with older sisters can assure you of their tendency to want to dress him up as a girl.

With its slow pacing, Wandering Son is not going to be a series that appeals to everyone.  It’s written for a mature audience, or those interested in LGBT literature.  Still, for those it is intended, it’s a promising first volume that will hopefully lead into a deeper story as the complexity of gender issues increase with the age of the characters.

The first thing that is notable about Bunny Drop is that Daikichi isn’t forced to take Rin.  His family is sitting around, saying “rehearsed” (as it sounds to Daikichi) reasons that they couldn’t possibly take in Rin. When the idea of sending her to some sort of institution is brought up, Daikichi has had enough and says he’s taking her home with him.

It’s so refreshing to not have a child forced on a man, but rather a man deciding to do what is right. The entire series is written from his perspective, and he considers things like how it will affect work, what he needs to do to get her in school, and other “womanly” tasks. The best thing is, however, that he also considers how hard it is for him, but how it’s just as hard for any working mother. Of course, this is written by a woman so it makes sense, but I appreciate her not making him a bumbling man but rather someone with kindness and understanding.

In many ways the series reminds me of storytelling style used in With the Light. It’s incredibly slice-of-life, but also carefully details those pieces of life that we don’t think to write about. The bathroom being scary, how do you enroll a child in elementary school, buy the trendy desk or the one that will last awhile?  It’s these very real ideas that really pull in the reader and make her feel like she’s there, making these decisions as well.

If you enjoy domestic fiction, whether it’s illustrated or not, give this series a chance.  It’s tender without being too cloying, fun without being frantic, and is really just a joy to read.

Shiga’s best friend died while attempting a descent in the Himalayas. His final words were recording in his notebook: “Shiga…Yoriko, Megumi…please.” Shiga took this request to heart, and watched over his friend’s family from the distant mountain refuge he maintained for climbers.  When Yoriko calls to report that 15-year-old Megumi has gone missing, Shiga leaves his refuge and heads back to Tokyo where he learns just how much the world has changed in a decade.

The story has a lot of potential, and it’s not that it doesn’t capitalize on it. Unfortunately, what it doesn’t do is fully expound upon the emotions involved.  While Shiga’s anguish is shown, it doesn’t quite seem real. The lack of scenes of Megumi in her situation also form a disconnect, not allowing the reader to fully build the necessary empathy. Additionally, the translation in this work feels a bit clunky and perhaps just a bit too literal. There needed to be a bit of editing to make the dialogue sound natural.

That said, Shiga’s a solid lead. The underbelly of Shibuya is only shown briefly, but quite interestingly. The final climb is drawn out, building up a bit of tension (and since this is a series for adults, there isn’t a guarantee of success).  It really just felt that if there’d been another volume, the pacing would have worked better, allowing for a deeper look into the situation than what was provided.  That probably would have fixed many of my criticisms.  And for all those criticisms, this is still one of the better manga you’ll pick up. It just didn’t knock my socks off like A Distant Neighborhood did.

Everything about that descriptions sounds so done, so repeated.  Until you realize that Video Girl Ai started in 1989.  It’s one of the works that really launched the seinen romantic comedy manga, and so while today’s readers have seen this all before, if they’d read this back in the day it would have seemed a lot fresher.

The first volume is a little rocky. Yota starts out as about everything I hate about seinen rom-com protagonists. Although instead of being a loser that all the girls like, he’s the loser that none of the girls are after. Then there was all of the pervy comedy–great for the target audience of teenagers and young men, not quite to the taste of this 30-year-old woman.  I could appreciate it for the intended audience, but it wasn’t my cup of tea.

Volume 2, however starts to find its stride, giving Yota a bit more of a personality as well as adding in a bit of conflict.  Volume 3, however, is where everything starts to click. Yota’s mature, a new love interest is introduced, and there’s a sense of reality that was lacking in the first 2 volumes.  Not to say the unreality was a problem before; I just really liked the different tone of volume 3.

When I started reading I really thought the series was going to be a chore, but after giving it a chance, I’m really looking forward to seeing what Katsura has in store for Video Girl Ai.

The book is organized into eight chapters with anywhere from 3 to 10 short essays under each chapter. The topics range from the selection of Palin to perspectives of Alaskas on policy, to feminism and her status as something of Puritan sex symbol.  While some of the early essays (particularly those from “Picking Palin: The GOP’s Gift to America” and “Half-Baked Alaska: Palin’s Real Record”) had some depth and information that might be new to the casual reader, most of the other essays were so short as to be fluff.  And since they centered around a specific topic, they often were very redundant.  There are certain sentences that any reader will get sick of by essay 10, and might consider striking from the book with permanent marker by essay 15.

Aside from the lack of depth, many of the essays also suffer from datedness.  The book was published in 2009, and many of the essays were written at the time of Sarah Palin’s vice presidential selection or during the campaign.  This is blatantly obvious as they leave off with wondering how the election will turn out, etc.  This would work a lot better if the writers (or editors) placed this into context with added commentary.  Unfortunately, this isn’t done, so you just end up with an essay that tells the past without adding much to it.

I was relieved to find that very few of the essays were mean-spirited. They were highly critical (although some were less-so than others), but generally they also pointed out Palin’s positives while at the same time balking at many of her policy points.  Not surprisingly, the worst written essays were the ones that were just plain rants, ill thought out and poorly executed. It was like reading a blog post, and left me rolling my eyes and feeling embarrassed for the writer.  He came off as desperate and pathetic.

Overall, this is a very quick and perhaps interesting read for critics of Sarah Palin.  Unfortunately, its dated material, shallow depth, and redundancy will likely leave intended readers disappointed and sorely wishing for something with some actual meat.

An interesting concept, certainly, and makes it clear that Andromeda Stories is a pure sci-fi series.  It’s filled with human-enslaving machines, androids, and psychic powers that span the universe over.  Unfortunately, while it has many components that should work great together, the execution falls a bit short.  The characters and their relationships are shallow. The art is sometimes a little hard to follow, particularly when time passes suddenly between pages. The storylines are rushed rather than fleshed out.  One additional qualm I had was with Vertical’s translation. It was sometimes too literal, leading to really awkward dialogue, and on a few occasions included really out of place slang. Props to Vertical to their commitment to bringing over classic manga, and in general they do a great job, but there were definitely some areas that should have been gone over again by another editor or localization expert.

In the end, it had a lot of potential, but unfortunately was too rushed to really develop much of it, leading to a rather uninspired mismatch of ideas with a pretty cool ending. One or two more volumes may have helped it immensely, but we shall never know. I’d recommend To Terra over this one though. It’s short as well, but it felt more cohesive overall.