Pluto: Even a robot can cry. And also blow shit up

 Webcomics links: Check out Katie Cook's cute new monster webcomic, Gronk.  Did I mention that it was cute?

For something less cute and more badass, here's a robot action webcomic called Old City Blues, and it looks awesome.

For some essential comics background reading, I want to be sure to highlight this "interview" (really more of an essay) with Joshua Cotter, which confirms my theory that Driven By Lemons was all about mental illness, specifically bipolar disorder.  It's a pretty amazing bit of writing, as Cotter lays his soul bare regarding his insecurities about his work, his uncertainty about future comics, and his own struggles with depression.  If you're at all interested in Cotter's work, this is required reading.

Pluto, volume 8
By Naoki Urasawa

The rule of thumb when it comes to manga is generally that endings can be expected to be weak (and also that series often don't hit their stride until the second volume, but that's less pertinent to this discussion), and that was the fear with this series, that Naoki Urasawa wouldn't be able to bring his story home satisfactorily after such excellence in the series' first two thirds or so.  Those fears should be mitigated by the fact that he was able to wrap the eighteen-volume Monster up well, and Pluto is more of a self-contained work (adapting an already-complete story rather than continuing on as a serialization), but they still lurked, especially after the seventh volume, which was probably the weakest so far.  Of course, that one's faults, as they were, were mostly due to it being the penultimate installment, tasked with putting pieces in place for the final showdown, just barely beginning to answer some of the various ongoing mysteries while still saving the full revelations for the finale.  It wasn't a waste; there was some great action and a growing sense of hopelessness at the oncoming destruction, along with a few really memorable images, like Epsilon wrestling with a tornado, and a creepy-looking adoptive official managing to make himself seem cheerful and kind, only to turn out to be exactly as evil as that first impression indicated.  And best of all, a shot of Epsilon shooting his hands down from out of the sky to offer protection to one of his charges is one of the lasting images from a series that has featured many, many indelible pieces of artwork:

But while that volume was probably an essential bit of pacing and setup, it kind of seemed like stalling before the big finish.  Luckily, the final volume suffers from no such "problems", jumping right into excitement with the awakening of Atom and the subsequent confusion and fear that reigns among Dr. Ochanomizu and his scientific cohorts as they don't know what to expect from him.  Urasawa certainly passes that feeling on to the reader, giving Atom a wide-eyed, inhuman gaze that suggests a struggle to contain boiling internal emotion:

His penchant for scrawling the formula to a deadly bomb all over the walls of his holding cell doesn't help anything either.  But he does eventually get back to normal, just in time to go up against Pluto in a final battle for the fate of the world, with enough time taken in various expositional scenes both before and during the battle to explain exactly what has been going on for the whole series, how Pluto, Sahad, Abullah, Goji, and the mysterious Bora are all related, and what the big, secret plot and string of murders have been all about.  The interesting thing is, it all ends up making sense, but it almost becomes unimportant as the stakes increase, a bit of petty revenge that spirals out of control to threaten all life on Earth.

That's something that Urasawa does so well in this series: explore the basic emotions that humanity experiences, demonstrating how they can affect us in both good and bad ways, but often go unnoticed in the swirling complexity of internal and external stimuli that we all face.  The love for family is the emotion that gets the focus here, turning out to be the main impetus for Abullah's revenge as he sent Pluto to kill everyone even tangentially involved in starting the war that killed his family.  At the same time, we see Atom experiencing Gesicht's memories of starting his own family with his wife after struggling to comprehend the undying love a pair of human parents demonstrated toward a child hostage that he rescued:

His attempt to experience that kind of love for himself (and his wife) leads him to adopt a broken robot for himself and his wife, and Urasawa manages to capture a childlike love from him as he emulates the humans he observed:

It's moving stuff, reminding us that while we like to think that parents and families have maturity and intelligence, those strong emotions can often make us block out everything else, leading us to take actions that we wouldn't rationally consider in pursuit of protection or anger when our loved ones are threatened.  We're all robots on the inside, I guess.

This sort of examination of humanity is fascinating, but this being the final volume of the series, Urasawa doesn't do too much navel-gazing.  Instead, he closes things out with a bang, pitting Atom and Pluto against each other in a rage-and-hate-fueled battle that's harsh, violent, and destructive, with Atom possibly even coming off as the scarier of the two as he launches into a litany of Pluto's crimes and swears to kill him, anger written across his face as his blasts through the air and begins tearing off robotic body parts:

It's an amazing bit of action on Urasawa's part, with Atom successfully transforming from the vulnerable-seeming kid of earlier volumes to the high-flying, superheroic Astro Boy that we know and love, but with a dangerous edge that his sister Uran recognizes from thousands of miles away as something that could destroy his soul if he goes too far (why, he's almost like a certain righteous military superpower performing unspeakable deeds in the pursuit of "justice"!).  The fight might be cathartic, but it's not going to do anybody any good of the world gets destroyed in the process.

In the end, good manages to triumph over evil, as was a certainty from the beginning, but Urasawa makes it count, giving all parties the proper emotional release, and attempting to impart lessons about humanity in the process.  That's what Pluto has been all about, and it's been a fascinating, enlightening bit of fiction, something  to ponder on multiple levels, from the sci-fi ideas to the symbolic commentary on current events, from the excellently-developed characters to the gorgeous artwork that fully defined a complex futuristic world, from the small, emotional moments to the big, exciting action.  It's been a remarkable work of comics throughout, something that we're all lucky to be able to experience.  Now, who's up for translating Billy Bat?

Pluto: Action and emotion make a good manga combo

No links today, but come back tomorrow for something...special?

(watch out for SPOILERS below, by the way)

Pluto, volume 6

By Naoki Urasawa

I don't know if there are any great insights to be had in this volume of the series (from me, at least), but it's still a pretty amazing one, seeing the culmination of some long-running plots and at least some partial answers to the mysteries that have been lurking in the background for the entire series. And action! The robotic fight scenes here are some of the lengthiest and most exciting yet, with the fights actually taking place on-panel, demonstrating yet another area in which Naoki Urasawa excels. Just look at the dynamism of this sequence:

This fight, in which Gesicht finally comes face to face with Pluto, gets drawn out across several chapters and intercut with other scenes (including another exciting fight, making for some nice corresponding panel transitions), and it's amazingly tense and nail-biting, both since we've seen the lethal danger of facing Pluto several times already, but also because it's the point where Gesicht really comes into his own, the end of his emotional journey throughout the series, and his internal struggles are just as compelling as the more obvious external ones. As always with Urasawa, it's incredible to watch.

One of the themes of the series seems to be the manipulation of robots (or the less-powerful; that is, those being controlled by those in power) by humans, and their continuing development as they come to understand and learn to deal with their growing emotions and intelligence. Before the big fight, we learn along with Gesicht about Pluto's past, as a peaceful robot named Sahad who studied botany, hoping to learn how to turn the barren deserts of Persia into fields of beautiful flowers. But he was manipulated by his "father" Abullah, the head of Persia's Ministry of Science, into sacrificing his growing humanity and becoming an agent of violent revenge for the destruction of his country and the death of his family. It makes for an achingly sad portrait of a being struggling with anger and hate and trying to understand himself while being goaded into horribly murdering others like him. So when Gesicht finally confronts him and, against his programming and orders, refuses to destroy him, choosing instead to plead with him to recognize his true self, it's one of the most powerful moments in the series so far:

There are plenty of other arresting moments and scenes here, but that's the one that grabs me, and makes me realize the storytelling ability of Tezuka and Urasawa. We've seen how much programming and the "robot laws" mean to these characters, but that manipulation and control can only stand for so long against a being of intelligence and emotion, so when Gesicht refuses to kowtow to his masters' wishes and encourages others like him to do the same, it's enough to make you want to stand up and cheer.

And of course, that's not the only thing of note here. A flashback to a discovery of Sahad's is another fascinating moment that sees Urasawa use some spot color similar to what he's done in previous volumes:

I'm not sure of the meaning of that scene (in which a flower that holds its bloom indefinitely is created, destroying all the surrounding flowers in the process); is it Pluto/Sahad discovering the extent of his powers (i.e. intelligence), along with their destructive capabilities? More might be revealed, or it might be left tantalizingly ambiguous; either way, it's a fascinating sequence.

There's also an incredible bit of emotion in the final chapter, as Gesicht's wife meets Professor Tenma, and is unable to hide her grief at his death (I mentioned spoilers, right?):

As ever, the sadness that shows through on her face is a testament to Urasawa's skill at character art. It's so goddamn believable that you want to cry along with her, and the tenderness of the moment is striking. And interestingly, there's a similar moment earlier in the volume with Abullah himself, as he meets with Epsilon:

Seeing the sadness he experiences over the loss of his family humanizes him, making him more than a simple moustache-twirling villain. It's more great character work on Urasawa's part.

One other aspect in which others have noted Urasawa's excellence is the way he depicts barely-glimpsed horror, and he certainly delivers on that here:

Pluto's hidden form there is terrifying, huge and scary, with shadowy, almost organic parts of his body bulging from the shadows. We still haven't gotten a full view of him, but we know he's incredibly dangerous and deadly, so the idea of what's hiding in that tunnel is as scary as what we actually see, which is just enough to intensify that scariness. But even though this is one area in which Urasawa excels, he can deliver fully-seen, on-panel horror as well:

That's just not right, and the inhuman look of those bald-headed robots only adds to the awfulness of insects pouring out of their mouths. Yikes.

Yes, it's incredible work all around, as always. With each new volume, Urasawa gives us more to look at, process, think about, and discuss; it never gets tiresome to watch him work. He seems to be winding down a bit here; the big confrontation in this volume could well be the climax of the series. But there are still a few revelations yet to be had, along with the inevitable resurrection of Atom (and also Gesicht, one hopes) and the final defeat of the bad guys; I can't wait to experience it.

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Bonus: Hyoutan-Tsugi appearance!

Pluto: Too much philosophical pondering for a comic about fightin' robots

Elsewhere: I've got a review of the first (and, so far, only) volume of Cla$$war up over at Comics Bulletin. I thought it was a strong piece, or at least I was pleased with the results.

And I contributed my usual weekly TV ramblings to The Factual Opinion, covering Fringe andThe Venture Brothers. Yay, boob tube!

Link: The blog The Eastern Edge has been posting some interviews with Naoki Urasawa here and there, and I find them fascinating, since he's such an amazing creator. This latest one sees him talk about his process, and also mention some complaints he's had about his manga having too many scenes of talking heads, which seems crazy to me, since while that sort of thing sounds boring, he never makes it less than exciting. Also, some rough sketches and layouts of his art; essential stuff for an Urasawa-holic like me.

And speaking of Urasawa:

Pluto, volume 5

By Naoki Urasawa

The great thing about science fiction is that while it can ostensibly be about fantastical concepts and futuristic technology, it's often at its best when examining the nature of humanity itself, whether through symbols or by placing people in an unfamiliar situation that can provoke thought about how they would react. That's exactly what Naoki Urasawa does in this series, following in Osamu Tezuka's lead after he spent a career doing much the same thing. And what's even better, pedants like me can try to tease out brainy interpretations, but people who aren't interested in that sort of thing can ignore it and just enjoy the exciting action and wonderful storytelling, which Urasawa delivers here as well as he ever has.

The plot this volume sees Hercules facing off against Pluto, with what are probably the expected results; Gesicht struggling to deal with his returning memories and the emotions that come with them, while trying to protect Haas from being murdered; and Professor Ochanomizu and Dr. Tenma trying to figure out how to fix Atom after his "death" at the hands of Pluto. And, in a surprisingly touching chapter, Uran runs around Tokyo trying to help people whose sadness she can sense:

That's a nice moment in a chapter full of them, with Urasawa highlight the caring and concern on Uran's face as she begins to wake up to the ideas of compassion and empathy. He's so good with the emotion, and he's able to convey it in such a range of ages and character types. In another nice flashback scene, we see what Dr. Tenma was talking about last volume when he called Atom a failure:

The way Urasawa shows the sadness on his face as he realizes that his dream of recreating his dead son is palpable, yet also understated, and at the same time, we see Atom's realization that he's not meeting his "father's" needs, beginning his own emotional maturity. Beautiful work.

This scene also shows the way Tenma has closed himself off, reserving his emotion and passion for his work. The contrast between the cold way he deals with Atom and the excitement he shows about his ideas for artificial intelligence is surprising:

Urasawa really highlights the body language in this scene, in which Tenma has been working for 18 hours trying to revive Atom. He spends most of it laying on a couch, but the discussion of science makes him sit up straight and become more animated than ever. But when the possible consequences of what he's talking about become clear, revealing that Atom might come out the other side drastically changed, he's back to his reserved self, coldly discussing the possible results:

The way Urasawa takes pains to detail the emotion of his characters really brings the main conflict of the series to the fore. But, aside from the obvious message of humans versus runaway technology, what is the underlying message here? At first, I was thinking about racism and colonialism, since the hate groups and robot civil rights laws seem to point in that direction. And that's not necessarily wrong; the way the robots seem to be slowly growing into their role as full-fledged members of society does seem to correspond with freed slaves figuring out their place in the world, or lower-class countries trying to relate to the rest of the world. But I think it's deeper than that, with Urasawa examining the very nature of emotional maturity itself. Early artificial intelligence makes the robots like children, unable to comprehend adult matters like hatred and vengeance, but now that AI is getting more sophisticated, the robots are waking up to matters that adults have to deal with, whether it's anger, or pain, or sadness, or guilt. And it's fascinating to see this exploration. Tenma's discussion of a robot that has every possible human personality loaded into its circuits is a good metaphor; as with the robot that wouldn't wake up in that state, people need something external to push them in one direction or another. You need a lifetime of experiences and emotions to make a person.

And that's the tragedy of Pluto, or so it seems at this point; he's got too many external stimuli pushing him in conflicting directions, and he can't understand them, causing him to lash out violently, but in a way that certain forces can control. In fact, one could relate this to the anger and repression that certain forces in this world use to spread violence and work toward their evil goals. Maybe that's reading too much into this though; for what it is, Urasawa really brings this conflict to life, demonstrating the terrifying hatred that consumes Gesicht and pushes him into murder:

Or the guilt that consumes a robot during the war, as he's so broken by the destruction of his fellow machines that he can't stop washing the "blood" off his hands, Lady Macbeth-style:

Urasawa even wrings poignance out of a robot couple whose child has been destroyed, as they struggle to comprehend the sadness and anguish that humans feel:

As always, it's masterful work, the kind of thing that you can't put down, needing to know what's going to happen next, but never sure where Urasawa is going to go or what he's going to show you. He'll follow an exciting action scene with an intense confrontation or a fascinating conversation, or even a cute character-based interlude, but never deviating from the main theme, always working to unite everything into a cohesive whole. It's beautiful stuff, every page a demonstration of his talent and skill. There are only three more volumes to go, and it should be amazing to see the finish.

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Bonus: Urasawa's version of Mr. Mustachio!

At least, I think that's who he is. He's also quite similar to Monster's Dr. Reichwein, who can be seen in one of the images in this post. Cool!

Pluto: Imperfection is perfection. Or vice versa

Quick link: I love this picture from Sergio Aragones' museum exhibit. He's one of my comics heroes, and probably my top creator that I want to meet someday. I'd love to go to Ojai and see this thing.

Finally getting to this one:

Pluto, volume 4

By Naoki Urasawa

I worry sometimes that I overpraise Naoki Urasawa, since my reviews of his books are pretty much universally laudatory, falling all over myself to call the man a genius. But I really do think he deserves it, and this volume of his update/re-imagining of Osamu Tezuka's work has some great examples of why, starting with a surprisingly touching scene in the first chapter in which Professor Ochanomizu tries, and ultimately fails, to repair an obsolete robot dog that he found:

That page hits me so hard every time I read it, with the way the dog struggles to its feet and tries to soldier on, seeming like a sad old pet even with its inexpressive mechanical visage, and the tears slowly well up in the Professor's eyes. That takes skill, to wring tears from a reader with a scene about a guy unable to complete some repairs. But it also sets up what's coming wonderfully, as we see how Ochanomizu cares about the beings that he has helped create with his advancements in robot technology, believing that they are capable of so much and wanting to recognize them as living, breathing beings.

And that's where things get especially interesting, as a man shows up claiming to be the owner of the dog but turning out to be much more, a representative of the shadowy, sinister cabal that's behind the recent killings. He wants Ochanomizu to summon Atom to fight (or be destroyed by) Pluto, but the Professor refuses, and the two of them have one of those amazingly tense conversations that Urasawa does so well, debating whether robots can kill, and the way the attempts to make them more and more human conflict with the desire to suppress their lethality:

It's a fascinating idea, and one that seems to be growing into the core of the series, but just watching Urasawa set up the characters and play them off each other is fascinating as well. The emotion that comes through on their faces is perfect, like Ochanomizu's cold anger above. And the facial expressions of his verbal sparring partner are just wild-eyed and inhuman enough to betray his robotic nature. As always, it's gorgeous, gripping work, and that's just in this character interaction, not even taking the amazing high-tech scenery and glimpses of big action that fill the rest of the book.

Yes, Atom does end up fighting Pluto, and he doesn't seem to survive, which is an abrupt, shocking turn, and one that will surely prove to be a false demise, especially considering how it basically happens off-panel. But Urasawa does like to go for the unexpected, and that's what he does here, focusing instead on the reactions of other players, like Gesicht and the other remaining Greatest Robots on Earth. But he doesn't have much time to mourn, since he's busy protecting Adolf Haas, the man who has sworn to kill him. That's a source of juicy drama there, and Urasawa keeps the tension simmering throughout. But he also continues to reveal secrets in drips and drabs, with some revelations about the war that weighs so heavily on everyone's minds seeming especially important, and some discovered footage of the Saddam Hussein-like leader of "Persia" appearing to show him giving a chilling execution order for the group of scientists who have been recently dying. And we also get some hints of the underlying issue, as Atom's creator Dr. Tenma is shown to have been vehemently against further development of artificial intelligence, since to create a perfectly human robot would place powerful, possibly devastating technology in the control of an imperfect being that is slave to its emotions and human failings. And that seems to be exactly what has happened with Pluto himself; only future volumes will tell if the world survives it.

As always, it's exciting, dramatic, gripping work, full of stunning art and engaging storytelling. I wouldn't expect anything less from Urasawa, but somehow, he continues to astonish and amaze me. That's pretty exciting to experience, and considering that the series is only halfway through, there should be plenty more amazement to come.

20th Century Boys: Drugs and hookers always liven up a narrative

Webcomics links: Derek Kirk Kim has a new graphic novel called Tune that he's serializing online here. Looks pretty nice so far.

Here's a new webcomic that seems like it could be pretty good: Ellie Connelly. It seems like a sort of Tintin, Clear Line style story about an impetuous archaeologist and her adventures. It's only just getting started, but it looks like it's on track to be lots of fun.

Scott Morse has a new entry in his series of "Strange Science Fantasies" up, called "The Projectionist". It's as cool as ever, featuring a hero with a projector for a head butting up against other embodiments of Hollywood types. I'm really digging this series.

Catching up...

20th Century Boys, volume 4

By Naoki Urasawa

With this volume, it becomes clear that the first three books in this series were mostly setup for the real story, as Naoki Urasawa takes a jump forward in time by a few years, taking us right up to the edge of the date for the supposed end of the world. It's a startling and audacious move, and it ups the already high feeling of ominous danger, leaving readers as desperate as ever to get their hands on the next installment. But he doesn't just make the move in between chapters; as we saw in the last chapter of volume 3, the scene suddenly shifted to Thailand, following an enigmatic exile from Japan known as Shogun, who was acting as a sort of enforcer for local brothels, cleaning up the trouble that foreign tourists got into and taking care of prostitutes who had been abused. As we see in this volume, his compassion gets him into trouble, as he is targeted by a local gangster for helping one of his girls leave the business and return to her village. But there's more going on, as the devious actions of the Friend cult have reached him, and he's become a target for them, since his actions have disrupted their trade in a drug called Rainbow Kid.

As readers probably expect, there's more to this Shogun guy than first appears; sure enough, he turns out to be somebody important to the main plot, but we get to spend enough time with him that we learn his history and reasons for hiding from his life, including flashbacks to some training with a Shaolin monk and the tragedy that sent him there. It's affecting stuff, emphasizing what's really important in life (friendship, family, etc.) over the accumulation of power and wealth. But that's not necessarily important; there's plenty of action and intrigue to keep the interest, including a great scene in which Shogun decides to destroy a drug factory and has a tense, hallucinatory confrontation with the cultist who burned his friend to death along with Kenji's store at the end of volume 3. This bit emphasizes the the Friend's perverse philosophy, which seeks to degrade its followers into belief in Friend's ideals, not trusting them until they have experienced "true horror". Shogun might not be all the way on the other side of the coin yet, but he relates a fascinating tale of his training, in which he was pushed off a cliff overlooking a waterfall and thought he would drown, but the light on the surface encouraged him to survive:

Whatever that means, it seems to say that trying to manipulate people and events into creating some sort of perfect society or dream; we should appreciate what we have. That sounds kind of banal, but Urasawa has a way of spicing it up, doesn't he?

Following this detour, we return to Japan, finding that several years have elapsed since Kenji went underground (literally), and he hasn't had much success fighting Friend's ever-growing influence, which has spread to envelop the government. We only get a few chapters of this status quo before the volume ends, mostly seeing Kenji hunt down the missing daughter of a robotics professor whose family had been kidnapped, hoping to rescue her from the cult. And there's also the revelation that Kenji is supposed to gather a team of nine people to fight in the coming war (or whatever is going to happen), another weird bit of Friend's psychotic plan. But the best moment is probably a scene in which a bunch of the cult's higher-ups consult with the kidnapped professor about their plans to build the giant robot that the children had envisioned so many years ago. It's completely nuts, with a bunch of grown men acting like children, getting excited about ridiculous, impossible details, arguing over what it should look like, and refusing to listen to reason about the impossibility of making this cartoon construct in reality:

It's another great example of the way Urasawa sells the creepiness of the cult, with people regressing to childlike ideas of the world and refusing to accept the compromises of adulthood. That seems to be a good portion of the point with this series, but Urasawa makes everything around it so compelling, tense, and exciting that we get caught up in the struggle, both hoping for the best for our heroes and champing at the bit to see what happens next. Where's volume 5 already?

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I was going to talk about the fourth volume of Pluto as well, but that didn't happen. There's always tomorrow.

Pluto: Robots dying makes me sad

Elsewhere: Over the last couple days, I reviewed Models, Inc. #1 and Modern Masters: Kyle Baker (which isn't up yet, but should be later today)(EDIT on 10/5: if anybody notices, which is unlikely, the review is finally up) at Comics Bulletin. Since I'm not exactly posting up a storm around these parts or anything...

Self-promotion: You might have noticed the Book Blogger Appreciation Week link over on the sidebar, and I put that up there because I've been nominated for an award in the "Best Graphic Novel Review Blog" category. You can go and vote for me if you like, but since I'm up against Jog, I definitely don't expect to win. Maybe I should start mudslinging; I heard he tried to get Tim Vigil to illustrate an Owly spin-off once. That's just wrong. Doesn't competition bring out the best in us?

One link: This "Friendly Dictators" set of trading cards from 1989 illustrated by Bill Sienkiewicz is really cool. Informative too.

Pluto, volume 2-3

By Naoki Urasawa

Strangely and embarrassingly, I don't know if I have too much to say about these two volumes of the series, at least beyond what I said about the first one. It continues to be very good, envisioning a realistic world populated by humans and robots, with various social forces pushing against one another as the increasing sophistication of artificial intelligence presents the problems of human obsolescence and robot servitude. It's pretty classic science fiction, and Naoki Urasawa, working from Osamu Tezuka's lead, pulls it off with panache, making everything work seamlessly. He's got several plot threads working at once, including a classic mystery about who is killing robots and pro-robot humans, the introduction of all the various "World's Greatest Robots", flashbacks to the war that seemed to affect everyone so profoundly, a Klan-style group (right down to the robes and hoods) of influential anti-robot conspirators, some indications that something sinister happened to Gesicht in the past, and the continuing involvement of Atom (a.k.a. Astro Boy) and his sister Uran in all this business. It's compelling, page-turning stuff, and it's as much of a pleasure to watch Urasawa work as ever, but I just don't feel that I have much to analyze in the way of plot movement.

But I do like to point out what I like about Urasawa's storytelling and art, so this might get image-heavy with examples. Be forewarned.

I've mentioned before how impressed I am with the way Urasawa can introduce and establish characterization very quickly and effectively, but volume 3 here sees him go the other way, with a character showing up and elements of his motivation and backstory being doled out slowly, for maximum effect. At first, he seems like a normal husband and father, but as we watch him pick up his brother's body, which had been held for three years due to the involvement in a robot case, we learn that he is actually a hard-core member of the anti-robot society. And only then do we learn some of his history and why he hates robots; his emotions become understandable, even if we don't necessarily agree with him. It's effective work, stretched out over several chapters, and his pursuit of revenge against Gesicht for the possible (actually, it seems quite probable at this point) murder of his brother should continue to make for a high-stakes spectacle. And by the way, he has the unsubtle name of Adolf, but we don't learn that until well after his motivation has been established. Urasawa is such a manipulator.

There's also plenty of nail-biting action, as the great robots continue to be attacked and destroyed, and other than some brief glimpses, Urasawa keeps the attacker off-panel for the most part for maximum mystery. But as good as that stuff is, the scenes in between the battles really make them all worthwhile, as we go back and forth on the humanity and alien nature of the robots. Atom tries his best to understand human emotion, which seems strange, but he also weeps after accessing Gesicht's memories. When the mighty Brando is killed, he transmits happy memories of his family to the other robots, but is interrupted by a strange signal that Atom seems to understand as painful robot emotion, but is unable to explain to a human. And then that gets immediately followed up by Gesicht's creepy nightmares, in which Atom's face in his memory is replaced by that of killer robot Brau 1589:

Even the appearance of the robots seems comfortingly human, until they do something freakishly robotic like remove their head to switch bodies:

Urasawa constantly keeps readers on their toes, making the robots seem friendly and still unnerving, often at the same time.

He does plenty of other work that wonderfully fills out the world too, like a scene in which Adolf drives away from his home, which appears to be a peaceful European villa:

Only for the next page to pull back and reveal that it was actually on the top of a skyscraper, surrounded by sci-fi buildings and arching roadways:

It's a way to subtly incorporate the conflict between human and robot, the old, simple world and new, complex technology, into the very scenery.

And Urasawa does plenty of other amazing things with the artwork as well, including a series of scenes in which Uran takes care of a robot she found (who might be the eponymous killer, but seems harmless, looking like a human hobo) as a sort of pet, discovering that he has painted what seems to be a series of abstract marks on a wall:

As she helps him explore his confused emotions about his powers, which seem to be able to create life as well as destroy it, he adds to his artwork, and the reveal of the final work is stunning, with a surprise inclusion of color in the middle of the chapter.

And finally, the way Urasawa plays with Tezuka's story and art is fascinating and delightful, whether he's modifying Tezuka's characters to match his style, coming up with his own versions of Inspector Tawashi:

Or Professor Ochanomizu (a.k.a. Dr. Elefun):

Coming up with variations on Tezuka's psychedelics:

Or even using his own version of Tezuka's "star system", as in this character who looks a lot like a similar creepy fellow in 20th Century Boys:

It's masterful work, never boring and always gorgeous to look at. I can't get enough of Urasawa's work, and seeing what he'll do with Tezuka's story next is one of the most highly-anticipated comics experiences that I'm eagerly awaiting.

Asterios Polyp: Great graphic novel, or greatest graphic novel?

This looks cool: here are some clips from an animated adaptation of Jason's Shhh! Very nice; I'll have to try to see that when it comes out, if possible.

Also: Here are some layout sketches and process pictures from Naoki Urasawa on 20th Century Boys. It's rare to see that sort of thing from a manga creator, which makes it worth pointing out, I think.

Asterios Polyp

By David Mazzucchelli

The question here is, how to even begin talking about this book, which was being hailed as the best comic of the year before it was even released? That reputation is not unearned; it's definitely an intelligent, literate work, full of symbolism and allusion, and gorgeously put together to form a fascinating story. But even though it has only recently been released, the weight of its reputation already makes it intimidating to discuss, as if it is a shibboleth designed to expose those who cannot truly comprehend its high-minded code. Can someone who hasn't completed a masters degree in English even talk about it without coming across as an idiot?

Well, it's worth a try, at least. In terms of plot, David Mazzucchelli's work here doesn't seem all that special, akin to one of those corny indie movies in which a busy rich person moves to the country and learns all sorts of lessons about himself, life, love, etc. That's sort of what happens here, with the titular character, a "paper architect" who has never had any of his designs built (he ends up as a university professor, of course), seen wallowing sadly in an unkempt apartment, when a sudden flash of lightning burns his building down and he abruptly decides to leave his life (what little there is of it) behind, taking a bus trip to the country and impulsively stopping in a small town, getting a job as an auto mechanic, and regaining some sense of direction to his life. Chapters of this storyline alternate with flashbacks to Asterios' past, mostly focusing on his relationship with his ex-wife Hana, a sculptor who seems as quiet and reserved as he is brash and confident, until he finally realizes what's most important to him and sets out to make things right.

But while a basic description like that sounds somewhat banal, the execution is where things really take off, as Mazzucchelli pulls out all the stops to bring this story to life. He uses a lot of visual tricks, including one that is sort of on the nose, in that it's explained in the text; it sees characters depicted in a certain specific style, as if their personality and inner feelings are externalized, taking over their entire being. It's a fascinating visual idea, allowing Mazzucchelli to cut loose with various artistic styles and techniques to represent a whole range of humanity:

Asterios himself is seen as a sort of mathematically-precise model, befitting his logical architect's nature, while Hana seems completely opposite, all soft lines and tactile curves. And Mazzucchelli goes one step further, showing how people can attempt to mold themselves after somebody else, as in a moment when Asterios is tempted into an affair with a student:

But a deeper connection shows a more organic combination, as in Asterios' and Hana's first meeting:

It's a fairly simple metaphor, but an effective one, and it allows Mazzucchelli to do some really interesting visual theatrics. And he doesn't overuse it; most of the book sticks with a more cartoony style (albeit one that sees characters depicted in ways that emphasize their personalities), and the "inner state" emerges when emotions are laid bare. That cartoony representation works really well on its own; Asterios' mechanic boss Stiffly Major is a round, fat man with a small head, showing his large, welcoming nature and reticence to speak, while his wife Ursula carries herself regally, like the goddess she believes she is. And taking it one step further, Mazzucchelli gives each character their own unique word balloon shape and font, making it seem like each character has a separate "voice" in a way that seems obvious but isn't yet widely used in comics.

And aside from all the striking visuals, the characters get fleshed out wonderfully bit by bit through narration, flashbacks, or just watching their interactions; we learn early on that Asterios was a twin, but his brother Ignazio died at birth, leaving him feeling like an invisible half of himself was missing. This gave rise to a personal philosophy in which he gives everything a duality, grouping things into two warring halves. Mazzucchelli illustrates this in a variety of ways, at one point invoking Aristophanes' creation myth from Plato's Symposium, in which people originally had four arms, four legs, and two faces, until Zeus split them apart (for a more rock-and-roll version of the story, see Hedwig and the Angry Inch's "The Origin of Love"). Ignazio (who also functions as the book's narrator) is a constant presence for Asterios, leading to a series of dreams in which he plays out his survivor's guilt, imagining a present in which he is surpassed by Ignazio, or, more painfully, completely perfunctory, with Ignazio living an exact replica of his own life. The duality even extends to the book's color scheme, which limits itself mostly to two colors at a time, with present-day sequences in yellow and purple and flashbacks in blue and pink.

It's a feast for the eyes on every page, but it's not empty showing off. Everything is done with the purpose of furthering the development of the characters, most notably Asterios, but even the minor supporting cast ends up being fully realized, realistic human beings. And as Asterios goes on his journey of the soul, he opens up and realizes some things about himself as well, realizing how much Hana meant to him and how badly he treated her by being pompous, self-absorbed, and dismissive. This becomes especially clear in a sequence in which Hana gets a job designing the sets for a play and working with an even more ego-inflated buffoon named Willy Ilium, who constantly makes inappropriate sexual comments to her. Asterios does nothing put mock Willy, until things come to a breaking point, and the moment he and Hana have in which her real feelings come out is absolutely heartbreaking.

And, as ever, Mazzucchelli keeps the visual and storytelling fireworks coming, in sequences like a series of memories that start slow and then overwhelm Asterios, little physical, intimate moments that might be the most precious part of a relationship, showing that the couple feels completely open and at ease with each other:

Another bravura setpiece sees Asterios have a dream in which he acts as Orpheus, descending into a version of hell to rescue Hana, and maybe even realizing what their problem was all along. It's amazingly done, all densely-textured lines and brushes of ink, with lots of surreal touches:

And it references several preceding moments of the story, including Willy's play and some of the sights Asterios saw along his journey. In fact, that's another important aspect of the book: Mazzucchelli peppers a lot of symbolism and foreshadowing throughout, to the point that a second reading (or a lot of flipping back to previous pages) is all but necessary. There's so much going on here that it's no wonder some readers feel that they are in a bit over their heads.

But at heart, it's a very human story, full of emotion that's realistic, gratifying, and cringe-worthy. As cartoony as the characters are, their forms embody their personalities perfectly, and it's a treat to watch them play off each other and live in Mazzucchelli's meticulously crafted world. Does it live up to its lofty reputation? Maybe so; at the least, if Mazzucchelli wasn't already considered one of the greatest living cartoonists, he probably should be now. This is a work that demands to be read, re-read, analyzed, and discussed, and it's a great example of something that could only be done in comics. The medium is certainly richer for its existence.

20th Century Boys: I'm probably too young to be counted among their ranks

Elsewhere: I reviewed Dark Reign: The Sinister Spider-Man #2 over at Comics Bulletin.

Also: Lucy Knisley has returned from a trip to France, and she's serializing the comics journal that she made here. It's like French Milk, in miniature!

20th Century Boys, volume 2 and 3

By Naoki Urasawa

I'm finding it hard to find a whole lot to say about this series, although I'm not sure why that is. I think it might be because it's a little bit different from, and possibly more expansive than the other Naoki Urasawa series that I expended so much language on, Monster. After the introductions of the first volume, Urasawa is spending time piling on the creepiness and sense of dread, as more weird details about the "Friend" cult are revealed, and occurrences keep happening that match up with the story that Kenji and friends made up about a league of evil attacking the world so they could be the heroes that saved everybody.

That seems the be the driving hook of the story at this point, as Kenji tries to remember the kind of stuff that he and his pals talked about as kids, or who might have been involved. Several new characters get introduced, including Yukiji, a girl who was the toughest kid in school and the only one to stand up against the bullies, and a weird kid who always wore a mask and didn't have any friends (at this point, signs are pointing toward him being Friend, the leader of the cult, but I'm sure there will be more twists to come). But the compelling theme here seems to be the way childhood dreams kind of melt away as we grow up. Kenji and his friends have moved on, starting families or taking over family businesses, but Friend seems hung up on their childhood fantasies, to the point that he's willing to kill and manipulate thousands of people to make them come true. And to what end? All his actions seem to be in the pursuit of evil; is he trying to bring about the heroism that the boys aspired to?

But the other notable quality is that the childish stories seem pretty dumb when viewed through adult eyes; only somebody who doesn't have a very good grasp of reality would want them to come true, right? Kenji seems to be the closest to Friend in terms of idealism, but even he matured in his fantasies, going from wanting to be a superhero to trying to become a rock star. But even that eventually faded, and he became focused on his family, ending up in charge of their liquor store and his niece Kanna. But the spark hasn't fully faded; one of the most exciting moments in these two volumes comes when he discovers the guitar that his sister bought him, then plugs it in and rocks out, waking up the whole neighborhood:

I expect more of this background will eventually be revealed, so we'll surely get to see what happened as the kids all grew up and drifted away from their youthful ideas and ideals. And given what we see here, it should be a great experience. Urasawa gives us plenty of classic moments, including a pair of chapters that features one of his signature techniques, in which he quickly introduces readers to a new minor character and immediately conveys their emotional state and situation, getting us interested in them without it feeling like he's dumping information to us. I'm always amazed when he does this, and this instance is better still, since he uses it to hide what could have been a dreary infodump about the police investigation into the Friend cult. We see an officer who is near retirement passing the information about the case on to a junior detective, but their conversation keeps getting interrupted by phone calls from his family, as they try to convince him to come to his grandson's birthday party. He explains that he doesn't get along with his daughter because he was so involved with work that he never had time for family. Then his daughter calls him and asks him to come, and the subtle effectiveness of his reaction is astonishing:

It's amazing that Urasawa can convey such a small shift, with his features softening and his eyes opening ever so slightly, yet make it devastatingly moving. Moments like this are why he is considered a master.

And I don't want to dwell on the shocking ending to the detective's story, but it's enough to make you cry. Instead, I'll mention that in addition to subtlely expositing information, the chapter mirrors Kenji's own conflict, as at the same time, Yukiji is trying to get him to help with a survivor's group that is trying to find out what is going on with their relatives who have been caught up in the cult. But Kenji is caught up in trying to manage his family's store and take care of his niece; it's the opposite of the detective's dilemma, but what he's missing out on are world-shaking events.

But when Kenji does start trying to figure out what is going on, Urasawa really dials up the menacing creepiness. One scene sees Kenji infiltrate a concert that the cult is putting on, and it's just bizarre, with comedians that don't really make sense but still cause the crowd to burst out into gales of laughter, and a rock band that just doesn't seem to be doing things right, even though everyone seems to think they're awesome. It's all just slightly off, and the fact that Kenji is the only one that can recognize that among thousands is just wierd and strange. And when Friend himself shows up, things get taken to a whole new level.

But then the really intense scene comes, as a group of cult members, who have been informed that Kanna is Friend's daughter (which might or might not be true), decide to take her away from Kenji's family and deliver her to Friend. It's a perfectly-paced scene, as we learn what their plan is as they start to congregate in the store, but Kenji's mother is blissfully unaware and happy to have all the business (Kenji is elsewhere, having found out about the plan and racing to get there as soon as he can). The images of the creepy, shifty-eyed cultists are as scary as hell:

It's the kind of thing that would have viewers yelling at the characters on the screen if this were a movie; Urasawa is just amazingly good at ratcheting up the tension, and then delivering on the promised action.

And there's plenty more going on in these volumes, including details about Kenji's older sister, who took such good care of him as a kid, and then abruptly disappeared, leaving Kanna in his and their mother's care. Was she kidnapped by the cult due to her knowledge of microbiology (that is, bioweapons)? And the developing relationship between Kenji and Yukiji is one to watch as well; after a childhood incident in which he came to her aid, she seems to think of him as a hero, and he's not exactly living up to her expectations. She's a nice character too, abrasive and direct, and it's nice to see her play off the others. And don't forget the various supernatural hints, including a psychic homeless man who seems to be able to tell people's future. And there's probably more that doesn't immediately spring to mind.

Yes, there's a heck of a lot going on in this manga, which makes for a page-turning read that leaves you desperately wanting to find out what happens next after every chapter. And the beautiful thing is, it's all up in the air; who knows what Urasawa is up to and what he'll spring on the reader at any time. It's virtuoso storytelling, excelling on every level, from art, to dialogue, to pacing, to character development. Monster seemed like it would be impossible to top, but Urasawa might just be on his way to doing so here.