By Hiroshi Hirata
Dark Horse; 272 pp.
Rating: Mature (18+)

With its heady mix of social commentary, political intrigue, and battlefield action, Hiroshi Hirata’s Satsuma Gishiden reads like Kagemusha as told by Sam Peckinpah. Hirata dramatizes the plight of a powerful southern province that rebelled against the shogunate in the late eighteenth century (and would again, more famously, in the nineteenth). The story unfolds in a kaleidoscopic fashion, introducing us to the the sanpin and goshi, low-born samurai who eked out a living as farmers and laborers between military engagements; the daimyo, the leaders of Satsuma’s ruling Shimazu clan; and the administrators, spies, and chonin swept up in the violent conflict.

In the wrong hands, this material would be horribly dull; the initial showdown between Satsuma and shogunate stems from a public works project. (Makes you wonder: was Satsuma Gishiden the favorite manga of Robert Moses?) But Hirata successfully balances historical narrative and dramatic action. He explains the caste system and politics of the Edo period, the ritual of hiemontori, the concept of nise—even the type of water works found in eighteenth-century Japan—tossing in some jokey panels of winged ryo and money-grubbing donjon to illustrate the shogunate’s corruption. Some readers may find these passages didactic, but they provide an essential foundation for grasping nuances of plot and character. Lest the tone become too pedantic, Hirata liberally sprinkles the story with passages of bawdy humor and baroque violence. In one gruesomely funny scene, for example, a dying character uses his own broken rib to puncture an opponent’s skull. Top that, Mr. Peckinpah!

The chief attraction of Satsuma Gishiden, however, is its distinctive visuals. Done in the gekiga style, Hirata’s artwork evokes the films of mid-century masters such as Kurosawa, Kobayashi, and Ozu. His approach blends cinematic realism with the rough-hewn aesthetic of woodblock prints. Images spill across the page, immersing the reader in vivid battle scenes, lively clan meetings, and ocean voyages. Another element of Hirata’s style is calligraphy, with which he emphasizes dialogue spoken with extreme emotion or intensity. (The technique reminded me of a common practice in American comics: using all caps or bold font to indicate that a character is yelling.) Dark Horse’s editorial team decided to preserve the calligraphy, inserting small-type translations directly into the panels. As a result, a few images look cluttered, but Hirata’s vision remains largely uncompromised.

As with Samurai Executioner and Path of the Assassin, Dark Horse labored painstakingly over the details. The extras are minimal, but include a useful glossary of key terms, historical figures, and major battles of the Edo era. The translation is uniformly good as well—no easy feat, given the daunting task of recreating eighteenth-century speech patterns for a twenty-first century audience. A few passages are a little stilted or slangy, but the dialogue flows smoothly and suggests the speakers’ class origins. If I had a bone to pick with volume two, it would be the choice of cover art: the image is a murky and unattractive battlefield scene rendered in various shades of brown, orange, grey, and red. Don’t let the packaging deter you from immersing yourself in this engrossing saga, however. Satsuma Gishiden belongs on the shelf of Koike and Kurosawa fans alike.