This month, Chloe Ferguson, Ken Haley, and I take at look at three books of potential interest to manga maniacs: Dark Wars: The Tale of Meiji Dracula (Del Rey), a light novel that transplants the world’s most famous vampire from Transylvania to nineteenth-century Japan; the first volume of Kino no Tabi (Tokyopop), a light novel with a popular anime tie-in; and Translucent Tree (Vertical, Inc.), a steamy May-December romance between a divorcee and a filmmaker.
Dark Wars: The Tale of Meiji Dracula
Written by Hideyuki Kikuchi, Art By Katsuya Terada, Translated by Mini Eda
Published by Del Rey, 272 pp.
From the creator of Vampire Hunter D comes a tale of Dracula… well, in Japan. It’s kind of like Snakes on a Plane: what do you say in the introduction that “Dracula in Japan” doesn’t say?
So yes, Dracula comes to Japan, though exactly what brings Dracula to Japan is a large part of the story that I won’t spoil here. Suffice to say that Hideyuki Kikuchi did all sorts gymnastics with the plot to give him a reason for coming. (Several reasons, actually.) But how did he survive the end of Bram Stokers’ original novel? That’s actually never addressed here. Despite the fact that it seems loosely based off the novel, or possibly the Hammer Studios movie adaptation, there’s no explanation as to why Dracula is still alive. Not only that, but his reasoning for being in Japan is sketchy at best, even for a supernatural horror series.
With Dracula away from the familiar confines of Europe, Kikuchi provides him with a new protagonist to face off against: Minazuki Daigo, a talented swordsmen in a time when the way of the sword is changing. With the Meiji Era in full swing, sword schools are becoming less about actual fighting and more about form and ritual. Teachers have exchanged the wooden swords of old for bamboo sticks and padding. Daigo’s an anachronism in this world; he sticks to the older ways, despite his young age. The man out-of-time element, along with his adherence to a “purer” way of the sword, makes him a bit of romantic figure for supporting player Saigo Shiro, a young judo student who befriends Daigo. His teacher Kano Jigoro, the creator of judo, also makes several appearances and figures heavily into the story as well.
The man out-of-time element serves to contrast and connect Daigo with Dracula, who is portrayed here more as a noble but fallen warrior rather than a straightforward villain. As for Dracula himself, Kikuchi’s take leans more toward an honorable, though evil and twisted, warrior. He provides a dark mirror for Daigo and his own warrior spirit, which is wasted and useless in the new era. Both are men out of step with the Meiji spirit, better suited for the older eras of swords and war.
Of course, it wouldn’t be a light novel without some illustrations, and this time around Katsuya Terada lends his talents. It’s the first time I’ve seen any of his work, but I really liked it. His art is nothing like Kikuchi’s most well known collaborator, Yoshitaki Amano, but that’s not a bad thing. His style is sketchy and loose. The illustrations have a rough, gritty feel to them that does a fantastic job at conveying mood and action within the pictures. There are even a few instances of toning being used to a nice effect as well. Terada’s art fits the story perfectly and his illustrations lovely to look at. I’m hoping that someone decides to bring over an art book of his work or other novels he’s illustrated because it’s really good stuff.
Speaking of firsts, this is also the first time I’ve read a Kikuchi book that wasn’t translated by Kevin Leahy. This makes for an odd review, as I’m not sure whether the quirks inherent in this book are a result of Kikuchi adopting a different style or simply a case of Mini Eda handling the translation differently from Leahy. At any rate, Kikuchi’s style here is lighter and less purple than his Vampire Hunter D writing’s. Fans of Kikuchi’s Vampire Hunter D works, or hardcore Dracula fans in general would probably enjoy it, thought maybe not be blown away by it. The whole book is a fun and easy read, nice eye catching illustrations, and some interesting appearances from historical personages.
Kino no Tabi, Vol. 1
By Keiichi Sigsawa; Translated by Andrew Cunningham
Tokyopop, 205 pp.
“The world is not beautiful, therefore it is.” So begins the vivid, surrealistic tale of a girl, her talking motorcycle, and the dead traveler whose name she takes and journey she continues. Kino no Tabi, a.k.a. Kino’s Journey, does not function as a linear narrative with introduction, conflict and denouement; instead, the book reads more like a collection of short stories within the greater setup of Kino’s travels. Unconstrained by the traditional moors of background and setting, the narrative is free to wander much like Kino, content to conjure new strange lands and marvel at the follies of human nature in the process.
And it works, rather spectacularly—the novel feels like a surreal metaphor, or perhaps a dreamy bit of plot-driven philosophy helmed by a teenage girl with a bike. Kino’s world is that of vast plains, empty forests and open spaces marked by small cities, each with their own story. Some—like the Land of Shared Pain and the Land of Majority Rule—have their stories recounted by the last inhabitants, while others have their natures unveiled slowly, though often with a dark surprise. There’s a kind of humanistic cynicism at work throughout, and Sigsawa frequently implies that the beauty of the world is merely the reverse side of human ugliness and slaughter.
Perhaps the highest praise that can be offered for Kino’s prose is that it tells a beautiful story without ever getting ugly. The novel flows well, and while not always achieving great heights, never dips below a certain quality line. That said, the novel shines most when indulging in lonely landscapes and open roads; it’s a kind of Edward Hopper painting on paper, and it proves both effective and startlingly beautiful.
Kino no Tabi is hardly standard YA fare—indeed, I suspect most tweens would be sent running the opposite direction from this meditative, often quiet account of a young girl’s wanderings. Young readers aside, Kino’s almost folkloric sensibilities and thoughtful nature make it appropriate for any age, and a slim, 200-page length keeps it on the quick read side. It’s a damn shame Tokyopop has left the title in publishing limbo, as this journey is one every reader should take.
Translucent Tree
By Nobuko Takagi; Translated by Deborah Iwabuchi
Vertical, Inc., 188 pp.
Don’t be fooled by Translucent Tree’s packaging—though the elegant, understated dust jacket suggests Serious Literature—or at least an Oprah’s Bookclub selection—the contents are more Danielle Steele than Soseki Natsume. The story focuses on Chigiri, a divorcee living in a rural town with a teenage daughter and an elderly father whose memory is failing. Though she holds down a job, Chigiri can barely make ends meet. The arrival of Go, a successful documentary filmmaker from Tokyo, offers her a respite from her dreary caretaker routine, as the two embark on a Last Tango in Paris-style relationship. (Read: more emphasis on the carnal, less emphasis on the caring.) Moved by Chigiri’s plight, Go suggests that he pay Chigiri for her sexual favors, an offer that, to his surprise, she accepts.
As one might guess from my brief synopsis, the central theme of Translucent Tree is power. Author Nobuko Takagi uses Chigiri and Go’s frequent assignations to illustrate how each wields power over the other: in Go’s case, via his age, his education, and his financial resources, and in Chigiri’s, via her femininity and her emotional detachment. Alas, Takagi lacks the nerve of a Marguerite Duras, softening the potentially unsavory implications of the storyline by portraying Chigiri and Go as lovers who just happen to have a financial understanding, not a kept woman and her sugar daddy.
The text itself is stilted, filled with flowery metaphors and euphemisms for genitalia that wouldn’t be out of place in a Harlequin romance. Without reading knowledge of Japanese, I don’t know if that tone is original to Takagi’s novel, or a reflection of translator Deborah Iwabuchi’s own sensibilities. The triteness of the omniscient narrator’s voice, however, is purely Takagi’s, and is a frequent source of irritation:
When people are in love, they think about the meaning of love. When you’re not in love, there’s no reason to spend your time thinking about it. On the other hand, it’s impossible even for someone who is in love to have a correct understanding of it.
Come again?
Though I might have dispensed with the Zen-lite musings on love and the frequent references to “organs” and “members,” I found Translucent Tree engrossing. Takagi keeps the suds to a minimum (at least until the final pages of the book), focusing instead on the not-so-glamorous aspects of Chigiri and Go’s lives: failed marriages, midlife angst, aging parents. (No one jets to Tahiti for a weekend of passion, no one works for a women’s fashion magazine.) Takagi’s realism may dissuade Danielle Steele fanatics from trying Translucent Tree, but I think they’ll find its semi-trashy plot, resourceful heroine, and ten-hanky ending of a piece with Second Chance, Palomino, and other best-sellers from the Steele canon. Anyone hoping for a more literary romance—perhaps along the lines of The Lover or The Unbearable Lightness of Being—may find Translucent Tree a little too pat for their tastes.
Tip for travelers: if you’re going to read Translucent Tree on a bus or a plane—as I did—be prepared to have your neighbor reading the steamy bits over your shoulder.
–Reviewed by Katherine Dacey
