Welcome to the latest installment of The Otaku Bookshelf, an occasional feature reviewing books of interest to the avid anime and manga fan. Today’s column looks at three very different titles; Dragon Sword and Wind Child (Viz), a Japanese fantasy novel steeped in Shinto mythology; J-Horror: The Definitive Guide to The Ring, The Grudge, and Beyond (Vertical, Inc.), an overview of Japanese horror films; and Parasite Eve (Vertical, inc.), a medical thriller that out-icks Michael Crichton in its Grand Guignol finale.

Dragon Sword and Wind Child

By Noriko Ogiwara; Translated by Cathy Hirano
Viz, 286 pp.

Noriko Ogiwara’s Dragon Sword and Wind Child is an old-fashioned fantasy novel whose pages teem with wood spirits, handsome princes, magic swords, and talking animals. The story begins in a remote village in the kingdom of Toyoashihara, where an elderly couple have been raising Saya, a headstrong orphan. From childhood, they have taught Saya to worship the Children of Light, an immortal race of deities who preside over the heavens. At the village’s annual courtship dance, Prince Tsukihiro, the moon god himself, appears before the village to claim Saya as his bride. Before Tsukihiro whisks her away, Saya encounters a strange group of spirits who warn her not to follow him. They tell her that she is the reincarnation of the Water Maiden, a warrior destined to lead the Children of Darkness—the ancient spirits of the forests, mountains, and oceans—against the Children of Light with the aid of the powerful Dragon Sword.

Saya ignores their advice, traveling with Tsukihiro to the Palace of Light, a magnificent, walled city that he shares with his twin sister Teruhi, goddess of the sun, and brother Chihaya, god of wind and storms. Gradually, Saya realizes that the Children of Light are not the benevolent rulers she imagined them to be: they slaughter humans to preserve their own immortality, and wage war on Toyoashihara’s ancient spirits. When the gods select one of Saya’s companions for the gruesome purification ritual, Saya decides to steal the Dragon Sword and escape the palace. Little does she realize that the mysterious, unseen Chihaya may hold the key to unleashing the sword’s destructive power.

If the struggle between Darkness and Light, ancient spirits and immortal beings, reminds you of Lord of the Rings, that’s no accident. Ogiwara freely acknowledges her debt to Western authors such as J.R.R. Tolkein:

… noticing fantasy writers in England and the United States used Celtic mythology as an important element in their work, I realized that I could use the Kojiki in the same way. The absorption of the Celtic gods by Christianity seemed very similar to the way Buddhism superceded the ancient gods of Japan.

The underlying cosmology of Dragon Sword draws heavily on the first third of the Kojiki, an ancient text describing the history of Japan from its initial creation through the reign of its first emperors. The tale of how the God of Light and the Goddess of Darkness became estranged hews closely to the Kojiki’s account of Izanagi and Izanami, the first man and woman. Just as Izanagi and Izanami had created the islands of Japan (and the spirits that inhabited its rivers, trees, and rocks), Light and Darkness created Toyoashihara together. And just like Izanagi and Izanami, Light and Darkness were separated by death. Darkness retreated to the underworld, where she lost her youthful appearance to decay. When Light attempted to rescue his bride, she drove him away out of anger and shame at her rotting form. Light retaliated by sealing Darkness into the underworld and retreated to the heavens, where he created the sun (Teruhi), moon (Tsukohiro), and wind (Chihaya). The plot itself could be understood as an allegory for Buddhism’s arrival in sixth-century Japan. In Saya’s struggle to embrace both the Darkness and the Light, Ogiwara dramatizes the process by which the animism of Shinto was syncretized with the philosophical teachings of Buddhism.

It’s a testament to Ogiwara’s skill as a writer (and Cathy Hirano’s skill as a translator) that casual readers will still enjoy Dragon Sword without any knowledge of Japanese history or religion. Ogiwara spins an engaging yarn that evokes the spirit of Shinto mythology without ever sounding stuffy or archaic. A delightful read for fantasy lovers of all ages, whether you’re a Tolkein buff or a Takahashi fan.

–Reviewed by Katherine Dacey

J-Horror: The Definitive Guide to The Ring, The Grudge, and Beyond

By David Kalat
Vertical, Inc., 320 pp.

I’m not a horror buff. Maybe it’s because I don’t scare too easily at the movies, or maybe it’s because the idea of undying mythological creatures and ridiculously competent psychopaths don’t mesh well with my hyper-logical world view. I get far more tense with carefully crafted plot developments that have huge ramifications for the characters involved, like when Lex Luthor took control of the Watchtower’s laser cannon in Justice League Unlimited and fired at a city, or when Sousuke Sagara seemingly leaves Kaname Chidori in Full Metal Panic: The Second Raid. That stuff makes my skin tingle and gets my blood flowing. So-called “horror” does not.

J-Horror: The Definitive Guide to The Ring, The Grudge, and Beyond, written by David Kalat, delves into the world of horror movies, and the impact that Ring, in its many forms and via its many knockoffs, had on the genre. And while it hasn’t made a horror buff out of me, it did offer a very provocative look into the successes and failings of horror movies the world over, and why movies like Ring and Tomie succeeded in reviving a genre grown stagnant and predictable.
David Kalat’s writing style is easy to follow and well-paced. With very little knowledge of or interest in horror films, I initially thought this was going to be a difficult read. I needn’t have worried; J-Horror ensured that I was brought up to speed, explaining the motivations and “isms” of horror movies in a manner easily understood. Yet the book never comes off as condescending. Nor does it exhibit a pro-Japanese bias. Kalat doesn’t pander to fanboys here; he looks at the phenomenon of Japanese-style horror movies in an objective light.

Interestingly, perhaps inevitably, given the common elements often found in good film, Kalat touches upon quite a few issues that not only apply to horror movies, but also to just about any narrative work. When discussing the subtlety of The Ring compared to more gory horror flicks, Kalat—maybe inadvertently, maybe not—reminds you of the importance of subtlety and grace, and that the best way to illicit emotion in storytelling is not with over-the-top violence or melodrama, but with more intimate settings and engaging characters.

J-Horror isn’t perfect. The editors chose to use endnotes, rather than the more reader-friendly footnotes, relegating citations to the end of every chapter. Yet magazine-style asides litter the book, sometimes taking up more than one page. I would have rather seen the sidebars saved until chapter’s end or incorporated into the regular text. Another problem with J-Horror is that The Ring is the most fascinating topic presented. While The Grudge, Scary True Stories, and other titles still lend to the book’s appeal, it is really The Ring that steals the show.

But those are all minor gripes at best. I had a great time reading J-Horror. The greatest compliment I can give it is that despite presenting subject matter I have no real interest in, it managed to educate and captivate me. Highly recommended.

–Reviewed by Carlos Alexandre

Parasite Eve

Written by Hideaki Sena, Translated by Tyran Grillo
Vertical Inc., 319 pp.

Originally published in 1995, Parasite Eve is a cross between a medical thriller and a horror novel, a combination that brought it widespread attention and acclaim in Japan. In fact, it was so highly regarded that it was the first novel to win the Japanese Horror Novel award. Despite the strong sales and awards, however, the two Playstation games based upon made it to the US sooner than the source material. Still, better late then never, right? Well…

The basic plot is actually quite good. The driving concept is that the mitochondria within our cells decide to rebel, wrecking havoc in the process. The mitochondria take their time, however, first seizing control of a woman named Kiyomi, then causing her death and manipulating her husband, Toshiaki, into saving some of Kiyomi’s liver cells for a mad scientist experiment. The tragedy isn’t limited to their family, as Eve-1, (the name given to the mitochondrion intelligence), spins a web that ensnares a sick girl named Mariko and her distraught father Anzai as well. What Eve-1 has planned for poor Mariko will make Kiyomi’s death look like a walk in the park. This intricate build-up leads to that horrific climax involving Mariko, a forced pregnancy, and the birth of something more than human.

Though the story holds promise, Parasite Eve is overshadowed by two major flaws: pacing and detail. The first half of the book is incredibly slow, with almost nothing happening for about 170 pages or so. (Well, nothing too horrific.) These early pages are mostly concerned with Toshiaki’s descent into madness and Mariko’s fears about a potentially life-saving organ transplant. (In fairness to the author, the slow pace helps build our sympathy for the emotionally bruised Mariko.)

The amount of detail is also problematic. Sena aims for clinical realism as he describes Toshiaki’s numerous experiments, but drowns the reader in complex medical terminology instead. When Toshiaki decides to dye and examine his wife’s liver cells, Sena relates every single step taken, right down to the type of dye used. The abundance of terms like beta-oxidization levels, HEPES buffer solutions, and hybridoma makes long stretches of Parasite Eve read more like a scientific paper and less like a scary novel. Once Eve-1 ceases to be a pile of strange cells in a tube, however, the book becomes one hell of a page turner. Sena’s attention to medical details becomes an asset as he offers gripping, gory descriptions of some rather nasty acts, including spontaneous combustion.

Given his background as a scientist (he’s a researcher for the pharmaceutical industry), Sena’s penchant for clinical detail is hardly surprising. Still, one can’t help but wish someone had told him to tone it down a bit. On the upside, there is a glossary in the back that does help clarify many of the terms used in the story. On the downside, there’s no way to know which terms are back there short of checking any time you come across a word of phrase you don’t understand. A footnote or annotations system would have been helpful here. In addition to the glossary, there’s also two-page bibliography listing the articles and books that Sena drew on for the story. I suppose it’s nice to have, but I can’t see many people tracking down a 1994 issue of a Japanese medical journal for information on kidney transplants.

In the end, Parasite Eve is a schizophrenic read. The first half is horribly slow and full of jargon that could put many J-Horror fans right off, especially if they picked it up expecting something along the lines of Suzuki’s Ring novels. The second half, the pay off, is absolutely fantastic: gripping, horrific, mind-bendingly twisted. I just think most folks will give up before they get that far.

–Reviewed by Ken Haley