steveatwaywords's reviews
1223 reviews

Jul Maroh (formerly Julie) offers a now-infamous story on queer love that has unfortunately been made merely titillating and salacious from the film reviews. 

Instead, what we have is a story of a young girl, Clementine, challenged to come to grips with the concept of loving freely. Predictably, we have the array of supporters and doubters. There are few close to her who are willing to talk about anything at length: we all have our private secrets and shames. As a consequence, a number of scenes are highly predictable: the reactions from parents, the miscues and misunderstandings between intimates, the various pressures from friends, etc.  As Maroh writes in their bio, "Intimacy is political."

Despite these too-wrought episodes, though, Maroh's pacing in the opening sections of the novel is terrific: they allow Clem the opportunity to languish anxiously. That said, something unusual occurs in the last 1/3 or so when we suddenly jump in Clem's journals across a dozen years or so. Suddenly enormous plots of distrust, betrayal, angst, and self-doubt are brought together in just a few frames, and I suddenly wondered that--since we so easily erased the opening conflicts that unfolded over the course of the book, why did they matter at all? And finally, though we know from the opening frames that Clem has passed away and the story is being told in retrospect, the circumstances of that death are treated with equal rapid speed. Why? In other words, the entire resolution to the relationship that we had so carefully nurtured was almost dismissed narratively.  

Nonetheless, the early story itself remains strong enough to be compelling and worth the read, and coupled with Maroh's lush artwork, this is a potent story. 

Jones is much praised in the horror community, and I can understand why. This grisly novel, about an elk spirit seeking revenge, is built upon one of the simplest of plot ideas, but along the way, Jones opens up dozens of insights into the politics and habits of Indian thought (the choice of "Indian" here is Jones's). These alone, for me, were worth the read.

And frankly, I'm glad they were there. In much the style of Tommy Orange, Jones creates hard characters made grittier (and more fragile) by their experiences. I loved the development of these folks, their tortured thinking, their cynical eye to what success looks like. And, if anything, I wanted more of it. 

And that's because the horror story itself, a well-trod vengeance-monster plot tracking down characters one at a time (hence the title!), has been done so often I was almost put off by it. We look, then, for what Jones does differently with the idea.

First, he has a real capacity for gore. For horror fans, this novel will not disappoint in that way. But this is insufficient on its own to sustain story. Better, he offers the most important nuance possible: how much of this creature is real and how much of it is a mere metaphor for their own cultural identity struggles? Certainly in the first half of the book, this ambiguity is played upon and could potentially become a real shocker to imagine explanations for Indian domestic violence and alcoholism and the like. But, a great disappointment, he seems to drop this idea as the story progresses.

But Jones's best opportunity for a hella novel comes at the end with a young basketball player. I don't want to spoil this extended scene at the story's climax, but I will say that I have rarely felt so anxious for a character over a sports game, and Jones's pacing and description is phenomenal. Here, too, however, I felt that Jones abandons an incredible moment with a few Deus ex machina interventions and about 40 pages of material afterwards just to bring us to a moral which--I think--he established far better without the closing melodrama. 

I know he has written several other books, and I will try more of him. In every case here, Jones has a power of narration that--if unleashed from the requisite tropes of the genre--could release him to greater storytelling. I hope to find it. 

 There are great empathetic discoveries to be made in both the words and spaces Tolbert creates in Gephyromania (the madness, perhaps from a few of crossing bridges--and yes, definitely a metaphor, not merely for the trans- community). They are subtle, often very intimate, and--on the surface--often casually displayed.

The narrative camera zooms in and pans wide abruptly, first offering an image of close physicality and awe, then snapping back to a diction of distance and obscurantism. This is often disorienting, and it can leave readers scratching heads at what one line has to do with the next. I found much of it, then, at its worst, perhaps too sybaritic, too self-indulgent in its confessionalism and leaving the reader behind to fend for themselves.

Nevertheless, what Tolbert leaves for the work as a whole is a nuanced portrait of an identity resistant to simplification and political label, one that risks pronouncement, and one just earnestly human. The tragedy is that this must be marked as a valid literary goal for the queer community. The praise for Tolbert I can offer is that he does not stop there.

And while I can admire the courage in the face of struggles he has lived, translating that onto a page, even with the gifted lines that pepper their way through this book, is still a different feat altogether. 

 This review is the same one I am writing for all six volumes of Akira, since they comprise a single story and reading any single volume is not recommended.

First, I need to say that I appreciate fully the historical weight of Otomo's contribution to the manga genre, both for his vision of the future and many of the conventions that will later become staples of the genre. Its popularity and import is cemented in the history of its fans.

So I am writing as a relative newcomer to the genre, a real noob I admit, having read and viewed a fair amount of anime, but not really investing in manga directly.

Some observations. The work totals over 2100 pages, mostly of non-dialogue action panels, which reveal a plot that might have been told in far fewer (and has since been repeated by later science fiction movies almost ad nauseum in 60 or 90 minute episodes). Otomo spends about 90% of his time with explosions, onomatopoeia, and characters screaming their dialogue. Don't worry. Despite all of the drama (the Earth itself is, of course, in jeopardy) and pyrotechnics (nothing less than falling skyscrapers and explosions reminiscent of Hiroshima), and despite how close our characters are to these cataclysms, most everyone will survive with nary a scratch.

There is some talk of timelines and cosmos, of evolution and metaphysics, mostly in the brief downtime between battles. Unfortunately, none of these stakes--no matter how high, cosmic, spiritual, engulfing, or worthy of reflection--really matter when it comes to the next fights which are combinations of explosives and psychic blasts. (Volume 3, by the way, is the most satisfying in the actual development.)

Okay, so I will just come to my own issues, and I mean this sincerely:  please, somebody, help me understand what I'm missing. Where is the meat of this? What is the reason it is well-crafted? What, beyond lots of volume and bigger explosions, is the draw? I understand some stories can just be exciting plots, but even at this level, Akira is wanting, substituting the number of characters and "sides" in the battle for complexity of situation. Volume after volume, the plot hinges on little more than who will win the next fight. 

It's not that I hate this work. My rating suggests that I appreciate its place in the manga canon and its artwork, its vision of the future and its tracking of these across its sheer girth. But none of these are enough on their own for this level of fandom, so I must be missing something. Please leave me a kind comment of assistance so I can better appreciate what I experienced!  

 This review is the same one I am writing for all six volumes of Akira, since they comprise a single story and reading any single volume is not recommended.

First, I need to say that I appreciate fully the historical weight of Otomo's contribution to the manga genre, both for his vision of the future and many of the conventions that will later become staples of the genre. Its popularity and import is cemented in the history of its fans.

So I am writing as a relative newcomer to the genre, a real noob I admit, having read and viewed a fair amount of anime, but not really investing in manga directly.

Some observations. The work totals over 2100 pages, mostly of non-dialogue action panels, which reveal a plot that might have been told in far fewer (and has since been repeated by later science fiction movies almost ad nauseum in 60 or 90 minute episodes). Otomo spends about 90% of his time with explosions, onomatopoeia, and characters screaming their dialogue. Don't worry. Despite all of the drama (the Earth itself is, of course, in jeopardy) and pyrotechnics (nothing less than falling skyscrapers and explosions reminiscent of Hiroshima), and despite how close our characters are to these cataclysms, most everyone will survive with nary a scratch.

There is some talk of timelines and cosmos, of evolution and metaphysics, mostly in the brief downtime between battles. Unfortunately, none of these stakes--no matter how high, cosmic, spiritual, engulfing, or worthy of reflection--really matter when it comes to the next fights which are combinations of explosives and psychic blasts. (Volume 3, by the way, is the most satisfying in the actual development.)

Okay, so I will just come to my own issues, and I mean this sincerely:  please, somebody, help me understand what I'm missing. Where is the meat of this? What is the reason it is well-crafted? What, beyond lots of volume and bigger explosions, is the draw? I understand some stories can just be exciting plots, but even at this level, Akira is wanting, substituting the number of characters and "sides" in the battle for complexity of situation. Volume after volume, the plot hinges on little more than who will win the next fight. 

It's not that I hate this work. My rating suggests that I appreciate its place in the manga canon and its artwork, its vision of the future and its tracking of these across its sheer girth. But none of these are enough on their own for this level of fandom, so I must be missing something. Please leave me a kind comment of assistance so I can better appreciate what I experienced!  

 This review is the same one I am writing for all six volumes of Akira, since they comprise a single story and reading any single volume is not recommended.

First, I need to say that I appreciate fully the historical weight of Otomo's contribution to the manga genre, both for his vision of the future and many of the conventions that will later become staples of the genre. Its popularity and import is cemented in the history of its fans.

So I am writing as a relative newcomer to the genre, a real noob I admit, having read and viewed a fair amount of anime, but not really investing in manga directly.

Some observations. The work totals over 2100 pages, mostly of non-dialogue action panels, which reveal a plot that might have been told in far fewer (and has since been repeated by later science fiction movies almost ad nauseum in 60 or 90 minute episodes). Otomo spends about 90% of his time with explosions, onomatopoeia, and characters screaming their dialogue. Don't worry. Despite all of the drama (the Earth itself is, of course, in jeopardy) and pyrotechnics (nothing less than falling skyscrapers and explosions reminiscent of Hiroshima), and despite how close our characters are to these cataclysms, most everyone will survive with nary a scratch.

There is some talk of timelines and cosmos, of evolution and metaphysics, mostly in the brief downtime between battles. Unfortunately, none of these stakes--no matter how high, cosmic, spiritual, engulfing, or worthy of reflection--really matter when it comes to the next fights which are combinations of explosives and psychic blasts. (Volume 3, by the way, is the most satisfying in the actual development.)

Okay, so I will just come to my own issues, and I mean this sincerely:  please, somebody, help me understand what I'm missing. Where is the meat of this? What is the reason it is well-crafted? What, beyond lots of volume and bigger explosions, is the draw? I understand some stories can just be exciting plots, but even at this level, Akira is wanting, substituting the number of characters and "sides" in the battle for complexity of situation. Volume after volume, the plot hinges on little more than who will win the next fight. 

It's not that I hate this work. My rating suggests that I appreciate its place in the manga canon and its artwork, its vision of the future and its tracking of these across its sheer girth. But none of these are enough on their own for this level of fandom, so I must be missing something. Please leave me a kind comment of assistance so I can better appreciate what I experienced!  

 This review is the same one I am writing for all six volumes of Akira, since they comprise a single story and reading any single volume is not recommended.

First, I need to say that I appreciate fully the historical weight of Otomo's contribution to the manga genre, both for his vision of the future and many of the conventions that will later become staples of the genre. Its popularity and import is cemented in the history of its fans.

So I am writing as a relative newcomer to the genre, a real noob I admit, having read and viewed a fair amount of anime, but not really investing in manga directly.

Some observations. The work totals over 2100 pages, mostly of non-dialogue action panels, which reveal a plot that might have been told in far fewer (and has since been repeated by later science fiction movies almost ad nauseum in 60 or 90 minute episodes). Otomo spends about 90% of his time with explosions, onomatopoeia, and characters screaming their dialogue. Don't worry. Despite all of the drama (the Earth itself is, of course, in jeopardy) and pyrotechnics (nothing less than falling skyscrapers and explosions reminiscent of Hiroshima), and despite how close our characters are to these cataclysms, most everyone will survive with nary a scratch.

There is some talk of timelines and cosmos, of evolution and metaphysics, mostly in the brief downtime between battles. Unfortunately, none of these stakes--no matter how high, cosmic, spiritual, engulfing, or worthy of reflection--really matter when it comes to the next fights which are combinations of explosives and psychic blasts. (Volume 3, by the way, is the most satisfying in the actual development.)

Okay, so I will just come to my own issues, and I mean this sincerely:  please, somebody, help me understand what I'm missing. Where is the meat of this? What is the reason it is well-crafted? What, beyond lots of volume and bigger explosions, is the draw? I understand some stories can just be exciting plots, but even at this level, Akira is wanting, substituting the number of characters and "sides" in the battle for complexity of situation. Volume after volume, the plot hinges on little more than who will win the next fight. 

It's not that I hate this work. My rating suggests that I appreciate its place in the manga canon and its artwork, its vision of the future and its tracking of these across its sheer girth. But none of these are enough on their own for this level of fandom, so I must be missing something. Please leave me a kind comment of assistance so I can better appreciate what I experienced!  

 This review is the same one I am writing for all six volumes of Akira, since they comprise a single story and reading any single volume is not recommended.

First, I need to say that I appreciate fully the historical weight of Otomo's contribution to the manga genre, both for his vision of the future and many of the conventions that will later become staples of the genre. Its popularity and import is cemented in the history of its fans.

So I am writing as a relative newcomer to the genre, a real noob I admit, having read and viewed a fair amount of anime, but not really investing in manga directly.

Some observations. The work totals over 2100 pages, mostly of non-dialogue action panels, which reveal a plot that might have been told in far fewer (and has since been repeated by later science fiction movies almost ad nauseum in 60 or 90 minute episodes). Otomo spends about 90% of his time with explosions, onomatopoeia, and characters screaming their dialogue. Don't worry. Despite all of the drama (the Earth itself is, of course, in jeopardy) and pyrotechnics (nothing less than falling skyscrapers and explosions reminiscent of Hiroshima), and despite how close our characters are to these cataclysms, most everyone will survive with nary a scratch.

There is some talk of timelines and cosmos, of evolution and metaphysics, mostly in the brief downtime between battles. Unfortunately, none of these stakes--no matter how high, cosmic, spiritual, engulfing, or worthy of reflection--really matter when it comes to the next fights which are combinations of explosives and psychic blasts. (Volume 3, by the way, is the most satisfying in the actual development.)

Okay, so I will just come to my own issues, and I mean this sincerely:  please, somebody, help me understand what I'm missing. Where is the meat of this? What is the reason it is well-crafted? What, beyond lots of volume and bigger explosions, is the draw? I understand some stories can just be exciting plots, but even at this level, Akira is wanting, substituting the number of characters and "sides" in the battle for complexity of situation. Volume after volume, the plot hinges on little more than who will win the next fight. 

It's not that I hate this work. My rating suggests that I appreciate its place in the manga canon and its artwork, its vision of the future and its tracking of these across its sheer girth. But none of these are enough on their own for this level of fandom, so I must be missing something. Please leave me a kind comment of assistance so I can better appreciate what I experienced!  

This review is the same one I am writing for all six volumes of Akira, since they comprise a single story and reading any single volume is not recommended.

First, I need to say that I appreciate fully the historical weight of Otomo's contribution to the manga genre, both for his vision of the future and many of the conventions that will later become staples of the genre. Its popularity and import is cemented in the history of its fans.

So I am writing as a relative newcomer to the genre, a real noob I admit, having read and viewed a fair amount of anime, but not really investing in manga directly.

Some observations. The work totals over 2100 pages, mostly of non-dialogue action panels, which reveal a plot that might have been told in far fewer (and has since been repeated by later science fiction movies almost ad nauseum in 60 or 90 minute episodes). Otomo spends about 90% of his time with explosions, onomatopoeia, and characters screaming their dialogue. Don't worry. Despite all of the drama (the Earth itself is, of course, in jeopardy) and pyrotechnics (nothing less than falling skyscrapers and explosions reminiscent of Hiroshima), and despite how close our characters are to these cataclysms, most everyone will survive with nary a scratch.

There is some talk of timelines and cosmos, of evolution and metaphysics, mostly in the brief downtime between battles. Unfortunately, none of these stakes--no matter how high, cosmic, spiritual, engulfing, or worthy of reflection--really matter when it comes to the next fights which are combinations of explosives and psychic blasts. (Volume 3, by the way, is the most satisfying in the actual development.)

Okay, so I will just come to my own issues, and I mean this sincerely:  please, somebody, help me understand what I'm missing. Where is the meat of this? What is the reason it is well-crafted? What, beyond lots of volume and bigger explosions, is the draw? I understand some stories can just be exciting plots, but even at this level, Akira is wanting, substituting the number of characters and "sides" in the battle for complexity of situation. Volume after volume, the plot hinges on little more than who will win the next fight. 

It's not that I hate this work. My rating suggests that I appreciate its place in the manga canon and its artwork, its vision of the future and its tracking of these across its sheer girth. But none of these are enough on their own for this level of fandom, so I must be missing something. Please leave me a kind comment of assistance so I can better appreciate what I experienced!  

This excellent guide has already serve as a "checklist" for my thinking as I step into this business world of content production.  Yes, there is much here that seems common sense, and some that is so broad or generalized in the application chapters near the end that it does not at first seem helpful--each chapter is brief, after all. But the collection is intended getting your head straight about <i>how to think about</i> these topics, not an exhaustive how-to of every form your business might take. It's what to think about, not how to do.