Posts Tagged ‘Friday Book Review’

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A Story to Wrap Yourself In

Friday, November 5th, 2010

During my senior year of college at NYU, I took a creative writing class. I had developed an interest in writing fiction at some point during undergrad, and I thought that a class would be a good way to put myself on a writing regimen. My output increased considerably because I had to write something for each class, and I also learned a lot of new things about writing fiction. I also had to write a lot of poetry.

Each student had to turn in two short stories over the semester. We had to bring in a copy for every student to read, and then the entire group would critique the story next class. This was nerve-racking if you were the one presenting a story, but it wasn’t too pleasant for those who had to read it, either. Over time I started to notice something about a lot of the stories submitted. Now, the class was a pretty diverse cross-section of young adults from across the United States; kids from California, Oklahoma, Illinois, Georgia, Texas. And yet, despite these far-flung origins, a good number of the stories seemed to be set in the East Village. Young people living in the East Village. It’s as if these students had decided that nothing worth writing about had happened to them until they came to New York for college.

This is the same general impression I get from a lot of indie, small press, and self-published biographical comics. Too many I look at seem to be slice-of-life stories about young people living in the big city; be that city New York, Chicago, Portland, or wherever. Nothing against people from those cities (who might not have other things to draw on), but a story should only be told if there is a story to tell. A good autobiography should be about telling the world interesting or great things, or at least offering a unique perspective on common experiences. To be worthy of an audience, a work must offer something that other works do not.

And that is precisely what Blankets by Craig Thompson has done for me. It’s the ostensibly the story of Thompson’s first love, but it’s so much more than that—it’s about religion, it’s about childhood, it’s about abuse, it’s about being an outcast, it’s about growing up and deciding what you want to be now that you have the power to decide. And it works, not just because of its immense length—the entire softcover volume clocks in at 592 pages—but because Thompson shies away from nothing in his troubled past. He takes all these experiences from childhood and weaves them into a cohesive narrative that not only leads into his romance with Raina, but that also provides context for everything he does. He feels shame about his feelings for Raina. He feels shame about his drawings. He feels shame about his relationship with his brother. Unlike other works which are too happy to pretend that there was nothing before adulthood, or works which treat childhood as a series of perfect moments, Thompson is honest and brutal, and in doing so he shows us how he became the person he is now.

I read the entire work in a day, which might seem impressive because of its length, but Thompson’s art is smooth and flowing and reads quickly. It also helps that many pages have little dialog, and some pieces of art take up full pages. Blankets rolls around in the luxury of page count it has been given. The book is such a quick read, that the end comes way too soon—and it’s such a sudden, disappointing end. The story just stops. We might get these little glimpses into adult life, but that’s not an ending, it’s an epilogue, and after such an emotional ride, it’s greatly unsatisfying.

Blankets
by Craig Thompson
published by Top Shelf Productions (Marietta, 2003)
ISBN 1-891830-43-0

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The Soul of the Japanese Kitchen

Friday, October 29th, 2010

One of the problems I had with the Oishinbo A la Carte series was its lack of context. By collecting stories based on the foods they cover, they gave you a generous helping of a particular subject, but there were also snippets of actual plot that were tantalizing, but ultimately not very filling—they just made you hungry for more.

Read multiple volumes, however, and the larger picture starts to emerge. It’s still somewhat fragmentary, but sometimes it seems like the stories were chosen far more carefully than just by what foods they feature. One volume may reference a story that happens to appear in another volume; others may contain essential back story.

So it seems in Oishinbo A la Carte:  Japanese Cuisine, where they take a more general direction with the food spotlighted. Here, the focus is on the “fundamental ingredients” that constitute the “soul of the Japanese kitchen.” We get to read about making dashi (stock), sashimi, chopsticks, the tea ceremony, and general hospitality. At the same time, we receive a healthy dose of the cast, learning more about Toyama, Kyogoku, Tomii, and even Kaibara and Yamaoka. Want to know why Yamaoka can’t stand his father? The answer is revealed here!

It’s always interesting to see early chapters of the manga, as there have been significant changes in the character design (never mind the art style). Kurita has seen the most dramatic progression, but even Yamaoka has his evolution as well—in early chapters he seems to sport a bad attempt at facial hair and he tends to roll the sleeves of his suit up. It is also in the earlier chapters that we see the most plot development; in running so long with the same plot (the Ultimate Menu), the characters end up stuck in a holding pattern. I suppose things will start to progress again once the creators decide to end it, but we’re almost at thirty years already.

On to the food! This volume feels a bit less instructional than others, because they focus more on the culture surrounding food in addition to the food itself. There is still a bit about cutting sashimi that was very informative, and the volume contains two recipes for seabream sashimi, both of which sound delicious and appear relatively easy to prepare. However, this volume’s main instructional purpose is to make the reader aware of their etiquette, both in preparing and serving food as well as eating it. Food is more than taste; it’s an experience.

Oishinbo A la Carte: Japanese Cuisine
story by Tetsu Kariya
art by Akira Hanasaki
translated by Tetsuchiro Miyaki
edited by Leyla Aker
published by Viz Signature (San Francisco, 2009)
ISBN 978-1-4215-2139-8

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Out of Sync

Friday, October 22nd, 2010

There’s a pretty big divide between what we know as mainstream comics (mostly superhero books) and the small press/indie stuff. Not to say that there aren’t people who read both, or that creators don’t cross over from one to the other, but comparing the crowds at say, New York Comic Con and Alternative Press Expo; they’re very different. And there’s mutual disdain—a mainstream fan might find indie/small press stuff boring or pretentious, and an indie/small press fan might find a superhero book idiotic or uninspired.

The disconnect is a real shame, because sometimes it feels like the people on the indie side of things have dismissed all superhero books outright, without looking at what they have to offer. I’m not talking about plotting or characters—let’s face it, sometimes they are pretty stupid—but the actual construction of the comic, the way they use panel layouts to create pacing, the way they integrate the text and images into a cohesive whole. The nuts-and-bolts that hold the medium together. The superhero genre has been around a long time, and they generally have the “how-to” part down.

The “how-to” part is the biggest problem with Syncopated: An Anthology of Nonfiction Picto-Essays, edited by Brendan Burford with a very diverse field of contributors. The term “picto-essay” is perhaps more correct; it is Burford himself that uses the word “comics” in his introduction and on the back cover. Many of the stories in this volume are reminiscent of photo essays, which are generally slideshows where each photo is accompanied by a caption. I have nothing against photo essays, or even these picto-essays, I just find the actual “comics” component weak. Two of the segments (“Portfolio” and “Subway Buskers”) don’t even have text; they’re simply sketch galleries of Washington Square Park and subway buskers respectively.

It also feels like the definition of “essay” gets muddled at times; a few segments lack a solid narrative structure that would have strengthened what they were trying to achieve. “What We So Quietly Saw” by Greg Cook presents segments from prisoner interrogations at Guantanamo without making the transitions from incident to incident clear. “Like Hell I Will” by Nate Powell presents various scenes from the Tulsa race riot of 1921 in a confusing jumble, not clearly connecting the captions to the panels with dialogue; what exactly are the latter type of scenes showing us?

Even with its weak points, Syncopated does have its bright spots. A few of the stories integrate text and images and follow a cohesive narrative flow, the result being some very excellent comics work. “West Side Improvements” by Alex Holden made for a very strong essay, teaching the reader a bit of New York history while also making a point about urban renewal. “A Coney Island Rumination” by Paul Hoppe and “An Encounter With Richard Peterson” by Brendan Burford also follow similar threads and themes. My favorite story is “The Sound of Jade” by Sarah Glidden, where she accompanies her father on an adoption visit to China. Another strong point was “Dvorak” by Alec Longstreth, who we’ve covered previously here in the blog.

For an early attempt at a comics essay anthology Syncopated isn’t bad, but it is wildly uneven.  Most essay anthologies follow a theme, something that ties all the disparate contributors and narratives together, something that this volume lacks. Future editions of Syncopated would definitely benefit from more direction.

Syncopated: An Anthology of Nonfiction Picto-Essays
edited by Brendan Burford
published by Villard Books (New York, 2009)
ISBN 978-0-345-50529-3

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Building the Ultimate Menu

Friday, October 15th, 2010

With over 100 volumes published since Oishinbo started in 1983, Viz didn’t stand a chance trying to release it like any other manga, one volume at a time in original publication order. They’d never catch up, and no one would shell out the money for a complete set. Luckily, the Japanese have already solved that problem by releasing the series in “a la carte” edition, which selects stories from throughout the comic’s run for their thematic elements. As Oishinbo is a food manga, all the volumes are organized by different types of food.

Oishinbo A la Carte: Ramen & Gyōza is the second collection in the “A la Carte” series, though Viz has chosen not to number them here in the United States. The book is broken up into six stories or “courses,” reprinting 11 chapters from the manga. The stories are taken from different periods in the comic’s history, which is evident from both the art style, character design, and plot points—the latter most relevant in how two of the main characters started off as co-workers, became friends, and are now married with twins…all present in this particular volume.

Each story stands pretty strongly on its own, with little background knowledge needed of the characters and premise beyond the three paragraphs offered at the beginning and the short character bios. However, there are still the occasional questions, such as when a character appears who isn’t explained in the introduction, as well more of the background between Yamaoka and Kaibara—if they’re father and son, why don’t they share the same name? Little things like this don’t hurt the individual stories, but they can be confusing. There’s so much going on that the reader isn’t privy to since they’re only getting a taste of the overall comic.

Despite all this interesting narrative stuff going on, the real star of Oishinbo is the food. Each individual story is really just a vehicle for talking about the meals that Yamaoka and his friends/co-workers eat, in this particular case, ramen and gyōza. Out of the six stories reprinted here, five are about ramen and one focuses on gyōza, an uneven balance. The topics are diverse, but tend to hover around the general premise of “someone is in trouble, and Yamaoka is the only one who can save them.” The problems always come down to food in some way, and Yamaoka is always a reluctant savior. What keeps him going is partly pity and guilt, but in many cases, these problems become another venue for his rivalry with Kaibara.

The nonfiction elements really come out in each chapter when they talk about the food, as the characters explain how ramen and gyōza are made and Yamaoka talks about what good ramen and gyōza should be. He doesn’t just describe the taste and texture, but also explains how everything works—cooking techniques, ingredients, even in some cases, the sort of “chemistry” that pulls a dish together. This book not only arouses curiosity about these foods, but in some cases could be used to make them, as we are taken through the process behind each dish step-by-step. The book even helpfully includes a recipe for “Oishinbo-Style Miso Ramen” at the start, though I admit that the recipe was a lot easier to follow once I read the comic it was based on.

Overall, Oishinbo is an excellent book for foodies. It’s incredibly informative, and will definitely put you in the mood for Japanese food. The stories themselves are pretty fun and enjoyed reading them just to see what was going to happen—my favorite was “A New Gyōza”—but you could never do this book without the heavy food element, as the details of the food often provide their own plot resolution.

I’m definitely going to check out the rest of the “A la Carte” series, though I suspect that further reading will also serve to pique my curiosity about the series’ underlying narrative further. Why is there such bad blood between Yamaoka and his father? And exactly how long is this “Ultimate Menu” project supposed to last anyway?

Oishinbo A la Carte: Ramen & Gyōza
story by Tetsu Kariya
art by Akira Hanasaki
translated by Tetsuchiro Miyaki
edited by Leyla Aker
published by Viz Signature (San Francisco, 2009)
ISBN 978-1-4215-2141-1

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Silkscreen Stalkings

Friday, October 8th, 2010

Small press comics (or “comix”) are all about the DIY philosophy and aesthetic; so is the process of screen printing, which people use to make their own posters, postcards, and t-shirts. So a comic about screen printing? It was only a matter of time.

Do -It-Yourself Screenprinting is a collection of mini-comics and other ephemera by John Issacson, advertising itself on the cover as “How to turn your home into a t-shirt factory.” That tagline is mildly misleading as it only applies to the first chapter of the book, which was originally the first issue in a series of three. The other installments include an autobiographical tale of John selling his wares on Telegraph Avenue (Berkeley, CA), John getting a job at a professional screen printer so he can print his own t-shirts on better equipment (this section does explain the equipment and the process), and a bonus chapter about printing on paper. Each chapter is separated by a one-page interview with a fellow screen printer, though sometimes these feel like filler, especially if you’re not too familiar with the process of screen printing—a very likely outcome if you’ve picked up this book in the first place.

The book is a bit confused in that manner; what audience is it really intended for anyway? Usually, a comic instruction manual would be something intended for a beginner, walking them through the process and making it as simple as possible so they don’t get confused. While the book does take you through the process, it glosses over bits that a beginner might need to know (like, what exactly is a silkscreen and where do you buy the equipment to make one) and probably could explain other bits better (how to create a design for screen printing). Issacson does say that “this comic is not intended as a single source of information about silkscreening.” He refers readers to the instruction booklets included with the photo emulsion kit (and other equipment), as well as including a “recommended reading” section, but then how exactly does Do-It-Yourself Screenprinting work with those texts? Do we even need this book?

While it might be lacking as an instruction manual at times, as a casual read it’s not bad. The second and third chapters are more story-based than instructional, though the third chapter, “Do-It-Together Screenprinting: Dream Job or Nightmare Job?” does explain the process of printing on professional equipment. It too can be confusing, probably bearing out that it’s easier to learn by doing than just reading about it.

I enjoyed the second chapter for what it was, an inside look at the difficulties of being a street vendor in San Francisco, especially when selling your own wares. Now I’ll feel guilty next time I tell someone, “I’ll come back later.” Because the book is entirely is accurate about shoppers in this aspect: we usually don’t.

Screen printing is something I’ve been interested in trying for some time, but while I was hoping to learn something from this book and get started on my new hobby, I now feel a bit intimidated.

Do-It-Yourself Screenprinting: An Instructional Graphic Novel
by John Isaacson
published by Microcosm Publishing (Bloomington, 2007)
ISBN 978-0-9770557-4-6

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Always Whole, Never Skim

Friday, October 1st, 2010

Comics are a good format for travel writing because by their nature they are about taking motion (and emotion) and capturing its essence on the page. Words and images combine; the creator can both tell and show their readers what they saw, and what they experienced.

That is precisely what Lucy Knisley does in her work French Milk. In December 2006 Lucy and her mother Georgia lived in Paris for about five weeks, from Christmas Day until the end of January. French Milk is her drawn journal from that time, possibly with some editing and interspersed with photos taken on  her new digital camera.

Because the pages are taken straight from her journal, the book isn’t expressly designed as a comic; most of the pages are Knisley describing things in text, accompanied by a few lovely drawings to liven up the page or illustrate her point. On top of that, the photographs aren’t fully integrated into the story. Most are presented without captions, and a few without context. Some are even blurry, and the black-and-white printing doesn’t help distinguish one Parisian building from another.

The art is fine; Kinsley chooses to use a simple cartoony style for most of her drawings but there is the occasional delving into more detailed, realistic styles. I particularly enjoyed the drawing of her mother looking at a map, displayed on the same spread as photo of her mother looking at a map in front of an ad for a skin magazine.

The strongest part of the book is the food. Knisley is fastidious in documenting everything her and her mother ate, accompanying most mentions with a drawing of the food item in question. She also names the restaurants they eat in, so aspiring tourists can give them a try on their next trip to Paris. She does the same thing with some of the shopping trips they took as well.

When Knisley isn’t talking about food or shopping she’s talking about her personal life, and that’s where my problems with this book arise. She spends a good deal of the first half of the book being homesick, and it’s absolutely no fun to read a travel comic where the author gives the very strong impression that they’d rather not be traveling. Sure, everyone gets a little homesick at times, but this isn’t the appropriate venue for it. And when that angst subsides, we get a glimpse into her other insecurities: she’s going to graduate college in a few months, but has no idea what to do with her life, how to be a “grownup,” what or she’s going to do for money. These concerns are normally relatable, except that the particular context in which they’re expressed is damning. She and her mother can afford to live in Paris for six weeks. I think that she’ll be just fine.

Given that I am reviewing her book, an honest-to-god paperback published by an actual publisher, she is doing just fine. The book is fine too, I just wish that it was better.

French Milk
written and drawn by Lucy Knisley
Touchstone (New York, 2007)
ISBN 978-1-4165-7534-4

(thanks to Anna)

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Making Genetics a Little Less Alien

Friday, September 24th, 2010

The explanation of how DNA works can be as complicated as the organisms it helps put together. And yet, because this knowledge is essential to understanding the entire field of biology, we expect students to learn all about this alphabet soup, from ATGC to XX and XY.

In The Stuff of Life: A Graphic Guide to Genetics and DNA, writer Mark Schultz and artists Zander and Kevin Cannon attempt to construct a comprehensive primer that not only explains each component and how each process works, but to make sure they come together into a  complete picture, better to ensure a true understanding of the subjects rather than a disconnected series of facts. They do this by wrapping it up in a science fiction framework, taking us to the the distant planet of Glargal. There,  the sea-cucumber-like invertebrate Squinch have fallen upon hard times; an unspecified genetic disorder is starting to affect the asexual populace, and their best scientists have been tasked with finding out why. Bloort 183, a scientist with the Royal Science Academy, believes the answer lies in the genetic diversity of Earth’s biology—but first, he must explain how it all works to His Supreme Highness Floorish 727.

The reader basically stands at the side of Floorish 727 as Bloort lays it all out, starting with the most complicated concepts first—how the molecules all come together—and eventually working his way up to the cellular level, trait inheritance, and finally practical applications of this increased genetic knowledge. It might not seem like a good idea to start with the hardest stuff first, but as Bloort explains, knowing how it works on the molecular level is essential to understanding everything that comes after. I can concur, coming from an educational background where the concept of inherited traits was introduced first, without any explanation of the underlying mechanics, and then years later did I only learn the rest, which only served to confuse me. Reading this book stitched everything together into a cohesive narrative, and I do feel I have a better grasp now.

Not that I would recommend replacing a traditional textbook with this graphic guide; the science fiction premise may cause some to take it less seriously, and the artists’ tendency to anthropomorphize the molecules in order to facilitate understanding sometimes obscures the actual chemical process—no good for those who are looking to study genetics beyond this primer. But for those who just need a solid conceptual understanding, this is a good way to go. Each step is delightfully illustrated, and when the content starts to get too heavy the writer is fully aware of the problem, having Floorish stop to summarize each section in case he (and we) missed anything.

At 142 pages (plus a glossary) The Stuff of Life may not seem long, but it’s one of the densest graphic books I’ve ever read. It treats its subject and its readers intelligently, and appropriately enough for a comic, with plenty of humor. Highly recommended.

* Note: Try to get a copy of the second edition if it exists; the first edition reprinted page 44 twice, accidentally replacing page 36.

The Stuff of Life: a graphic guide to genetics and DNA
written by Mark Schultz
illustrated by Zander Cannon and Kevin Cannon
edited by Howard Zimmerman
published by Hill and Wang (New York, 2009)
ISBN 978-0-8090-8938-3

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Barefoot, Pregnant, and Live on Stage

Friday, September 17th, 2010

Isadora Duncan is possibly one of the greatest dancers of all time, and yet her name is unknown to many (especially in the US). Perhaps this is because dance is an art of motion, and almost no film exists of Duncan actually dancing—only photographs, paintings, sculptures, her writings, biographies, and the personal accounts of those that saw her dance. In Isadora Duncan: a graphic biography, artist Sabrina Jones takes all of these sources and attempts to create a living, breathing portrait of the woman and her art using comics. This seems only appropriate, given that the nature of comics is to take static images and breathe life (and the illusion of motion) into them.

Jones’ curvy, flowing ink brush style suits the nature of the story well; her art does a good job of conveying Duncan’s free and loose style of dance. Duncan chafed against the stiffness of “traditional” dancing like ballet, and so this book eschews panel borders for the most part. However, that does not stop the book from being divided into chapters, nor from each page following a rough 2×3 panel configuration.

The dancing and art style might be flowing, but the same cannot be said for the pacing of the book, which jumps from place to place and from event to event in Duncan’s life. The transitions are rough, and not always clear, making it hard to distinguish where Isadora is at a given point in her life, or how much time has passed. While the beginning of the book seems to delineate the early periods of Isadora’s life with some clarity, her later years go by in a blur, with Duncan reaching middle-age fairly quickly. Maybe this is intentional; a reflection of the path of Isadora’s real life, touring through Europe and the United States, meeting new lovers, starting schools, and spending all her money, only to end up touring again in order to stay afloat.

Regardless of these narrative issues, Isadora Duncan’s story is fascinating, and she espoused many ideas which, though accepted today, were rather scandalous at the time, making her story rather revolutionary.

Isadora Duncan: a graphic biography
written and illustrated by Sabrina Jones
edited by Paul Buhle
introduction by Lori Belilove
published by Hill and Wang (New York, 2008)
ISBN 978-0-8090-9497-4

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Don’t Bunko Your Career

Friday, September 10th, 2010

One thing that higher education doesn’t seem to be very good at is telling you what to do next. Oh, you can visit the career counselor and they’ll give you tips on your resume and interviewing; if you’re lucky they’ll point you in a general direction, though that direction might not always be the right one.

As a result, it’s really easy to get stuck in a job you don’t particularly enjoy, or aren’t particularly good at, like the titular hero of The Adventures of Johnny Bunko, by author Daniel H. Pink and illustrated by Rob Ten Pas. Johnny majored in accounting because his father told him it was a good “fallback,” a way to always be employed if his dreams didn’t work out. Unfortunately, Johnny is nowhere near where he really wants to be, and he’s gained a reputation around the office as the guy who makes mistakes—to the point where a screw up is called a “Bunko.”

Everything changes when Johnny gets his hands on a bundle of enchanted chopsticks; splitting a pair summons a magical being named Diana. Diana offers to help Johnny by showing him the keys to a successful career, all he needs to do is snap a new pair of chopsticks and she’ll come and impart some useful advice. He only has six pairs, but it’s okay because Diana has six lessons to impart, each told through an amusing vignette at his company.

Rather than fall into the usual cliché of having Johnny attempt to tell his coworkers about Diana and fail miserably, thus looking like a delusional fool, Johnny Bunko instead bucks the trend by letting the coworkers in on the secret and having them benefit from the knowledge Diana imparts. In this manner the book follows its own advice: “The most valuable people in any job bring out the best in others. They make their boss look good. They help their teammates succeed.” We watch as Johnny switches departments and works on a major advertising campaign whose success will be a major boon for the company—and for Johnny, of course. He makes mistakes, but as the book explains, this is all part of the process.

The art by Rob Ten Pas is clean and energetic, making it easy to forget that you’re reading a career guide, much less “the last career guide you’ll ever need.” That’s the tagline, but I can’t say I completely agree. This book is only so long, and can only cover so much; it doesn’t tell you how to deal with troublesome coworkers, or how to get yourself the job in the first place. But for such a quick read, it’s pretty packed full of useful advice that had me wondering where my own career decisions fit into Diana’s six lessons.

The Adventures of Johnny Bunko
written by Daniel H. Pink
illustrated by Rob Ten Pas
published by Riverhead Books (New York, 2008)
ISBN 978-1-59448-291-5

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Dispatches from Tokyo

Friday, September 3rd, 2010

Living in a foreign country can be overwhelming, especially if you don’t speak the language. You might miss out on a lot, especially if you’re only there for a short period of time. Which might be why, back in 2006, German artist Dirk Schwieger proposed the following to his readers while living in Tokyo: send him suggestions for places to go, people to meet, or just interesting topics to investigate, and he will go out and do it. No questions asked, and he doesn’t have to like it. Then he chronicled each “assignment” in the form of a webcomic on his blog.

In 2008 these comics were collected into a book, Moresukine: Uploaded Weekly From Tokyo. The name “Moresukine” comes from the Japanese method of pronouncing “Moleskine,” the brand of notebook the original comics were created in, which the printed book sought to emulate in its design. The book is the size and cut of a Moleskine notebook, and if not for the illustration on the blue band wrapped around the cover, it could easily be mistaken for one.

The book consists of a brief introduction and story, followed by the stories of each assignment, from fashion to fugu. He covers topics as diverse as the Studio Ghibli Museum, love hotels, and Japanese slang. Each story is short but sweet; few overstay their welcome, while some, like the entry on religion, might not be long enough. He plays with the passage of time on a few assignments; the rooftop roller coaster entry tells the story of riding the roller coaster while simultaneously recounting the events leading up to that ride. The gender entry is actually a fold-out page; a series of random, yet interconnected thoughts are spread across a sheet two pages wide and two pages tall. It can be confusing, but greatly satisfying once all the pieces fall into place.

As all of the main Moresukine strips have previously appeared on the web, Schwieger attempts to sweeten the pot by offering bonus material in the published book.  The last section consists of a series of strips created by other artists, chronicling their responses to a challenge issued by Schweiger: talk to a Japanese person and write a strip about it. The selection of artists is mostly European, with a few from Canada and the United States. Some of the choices are rather… interesting, including Steve Havelka of Pokey the Penguin! and Ryan North of Dinosaur Comics. These two are not what you think of when you talk about “artistic” or “worldly” comics, but they produce interesting and entertaining results nonetheless. My favorite was the story by Monsieur le Chien, who took the time out to draw a strip chronicling not only his search for and encounter with a Japanese person, but also his previous thoughts on the Japanese (and also stereotypes of Frenchmen driving through the countryside in a Citroen Chevaux 2).

Moresukine is a quick read that can be confusing at times, but it provides an interesting and non-judgmental look at the culture of Japan through the eyes of a foreigner, all while not being afraid to experiment with the layout of a traditional comic.

Moresukine: Uploaded Weekly From Tokyo
written and illustrated by Dirk Schwieger
published by NBM Publishing (New York, 2008)
ISBN 978-1-56163-537-5

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