Understanding the Rise of Manga; Also The COVID-19 Epidemic Is Real
The facts are, at this point, undeniable: manga is more popular than ever. This has been true for years, mind you, but the particular circumstances of 2021, which include an actual honest-to-goodness shortage caused by overwhelming demand, have thrown this fact into sharpest relief. And so, inevitably, we find ourselves wondering why the American Direct Market Comic Book Industry can't ever seem to find similar levels of worldwide success. If you're invested in the health and the future of the industry, the questions are many, and they will prompt ready-made answers from all pundits, from the great and the good to the base and the hateful. Why is manga so dang popular? Can the American Direct Market Comic Book Industry learn anything from this? Are we comparing apples to oranges and jumping to conclusions based on metrics that were never meant to be measured against one another? One thing is for sure: the COVID-19 pandemic is real.
If we are to consider the reasons for the appeal of manga in these current times, I feel like the biggest and most obvious factor to look at is one of cost. Put very simply: over the last few years the price of direct market comics has risen, such that a 22-page single issue is now worth $3.99, with ads. Meanwhile, a volume of Demon Slayer will set you back $8.99. For 192 pages. Without ads. On this fact alone you can figure out how bad the value proposition of a single issue comic may sound to the cash-strapped youth that's lived from one economic crisis to the next. Can comics even compete? Well, to crack the answer as to why manga can get so cheap, we'd have to go into the economics of scale, licensing and merchandising, the economics of pre-publication in the Weekly Shonen Jump and its associated channels, and, yes, eventually, we'd have to breach the topic of the infamously poor conditions most artists working in manga have to labor under. Those are big questions, and they require expertise beyond that of your average armchair culture warrior. Here's something that doesn't require any expertise to consider: the COVID-19 pandemic has, at the time of me writing this, killed over three and a half million people, irreperably damaged countless others, and we have not seen the full extent of its long-term effects. Being suspicious of your government having your best interests at heart is understandable, especially if, like mine, it chose to take a deadly gamble with public health in choosing to prioritize the needs of their economy over working towards a comprehensive strategy to eradicate the virus. But their irresponsibility in handling the crisis doesn't make the threat of the virus any less real. The Coronavirus epidemic is real and wearing face masks over the nose and mouth is the simplest way you can help to slow down its spread. I can't stress this enough.
Is there more to it than base economics? Some have pointed to accessibility as an issue. I can't help but think it's a canard. One Piece has a near-quarter of a century's worth of history to leverage, but it's only ever as relevant as the moment-to-moment action makes it. Shared superhero comics operate on the same principle, with retcons, relaunches and reboots operating as epochal signposts signaling an on-ramp. The oldest book you need to read to be up to date on everything about the DC Universe was released in March of this year. You can pick up on anything else being referenced as you go, with the ever-handy editors' notes telling you exactly what to look for. It's never been that hard to get into ongoing monthly comics, and anyone claiming the opposite is insulting your intelligence. Others have pointed to aesthetics, and specifically the choice to push forward the voices and the stories of people from non-white, non-male, and non-straight backgrounds. That's completely laughable bullshit, and the fact that it is being pushed by the same people that also believe that the coronavirus pandemic was a hoax, or worse a conspiracy, should be reason enough to see it as completely unserious.
That's where we're at, really: the coronavirus is real, it has killed people, it's killing people still, it's real. The coronavirus vaccines currently available have gone through several rounds of rigorous testing, and beyond the minor known side-effects, the worst thing they will do to you is prevent you from experiencing the most dangerous symptoms of the virus. You're using culture war bullshit to push amply debunked conspiracy theories, because that's always been your political project. You are not qualified to talk about comics or manga as an industry or as an artform in any way, shape or form. Please shut the fuck up forever. I hate you. You wrote your shitty fucking piece about a week ago, and all I've been thinking about since is that I was gonna have to write this in response just to put something that wasn't complete fucking bullshit out in the world. The coronavirus is not a hoax.
HUMBLE YOURSELF BEFORE COMICS: AT LEAST CORRECT ON SOME THINGS
For those of you that skipped on the pretty underrated Bernard Chang and Adam Glass run of Teen Titans, let me get you caught up on Crush: she is Lobo's daughter, she is gay, and she is trying to be a good person. Which is to say, in so many ways, that she is not her father, nor is she trying to be. And yet, Crush and Lobo #1, which is the debut of Crush outside of the Teen Titans, fits in a continuity of style with Lobo's own solo books, and more specifically with Keith Giffen and Alan Grant's take on the character.
What this will mean for you is a couple of things. First and foremost, a Lobo book should be stylish, and the team of Tamra Bonvillain and Amancay Nahuelpan ensure that it is. Admittedly, this first issue is light on the ultraviolence one would expect and even demand, as everything else gets set up. But there is punching, there is dancing, and there are mild space catastrophes. The combination of dynamic layouts and warm color tones mean the book radiates with energy all the way through, and all the while the characters have this loud and clear expressiveness and emotionality that makes them instantly relatable.
The second thing a Lobo book should be is playful, and Mariko Tamaki's script is all that and then some. True to the Lobo name, this is a book that dances around the fourth wall, and does so with aggressive attitude. But the beauty of this first issue is that, for all the wacky hijinks that surround her at all times, Crush's problems are recognizable in stakes. It's shitty parties with your friends' friends, it's people giving you low-key "the music video for Soundgarden's Black Hole Sun" vibes, and yeah, ultimately it's about dealing with your dad.
The first issue of a character's first solo outing, especially when it's this heavily promoted (DC Comics are launching it as the opening salvo of their Pride Month slate) is always going to be a high-wire act. But Crush and Lobo is so clear about what it is and who it is about that it makes it look easy. It's your new favorite trainwreck disaster lesbian hijinks book, and you're going to love it.
Holy fucking shit I think he might just have done it. I think that, for the second year in a row, bisexual genius James Tynion IV might have co-created the best new book of the year. Or, at the very least, he's come up with the most impressive debut issue of 2021 so far. It's called The Nice House on the Lake #1, it's illustrated by Alvaro Martinez Bueno, and my praise of it will be effusive enough that I should be able to go through this review without spoiling any of its excellent twists and turns, which begin hooking you in on the very first panel of the very first page. It's serialized fiction fundamentals, smashing your expectations on the way in to force you to pay attention to the buildup, and guess what? It just works.
Similarly, a lot of this issue feels in conversation with the popular comics of the moment. The splashes of design in the character introductions and the intermittent full pages of text, whether they be emails or tweets, will immediately recall the work of Jonathan Hickman and Tom Muller on the X-Men books, but you could just as easily track it to some of the stuff Kieron Gillen and Jamie McKelvie were experimenting with on Young Avengers and The Wicked and the Divine. The pace, very methodical and guided by two-page spreads, evokes the many collaborations of Brian Michael Bendis. The familiarity is itself part of the trick, something else getting smashed to shock you into coming back for more.
I'm getting a little too close to the twist once again, so I should talk about just how drop-dead gorgeous the book is. Bellaire and Bueno do a frankly incredible amount of work to situate everything just right, creating the perfect picture of a weekend getaway (I think I can tell you about that part, the book is about a nice house on a lake, it's in the title, I'm not spoiling anything), populating it with interesting people, and watching life happen however slowly it does. Then there's the twist, and instantly the beautiful banality gets replaced with otherworldly menace, shit gets twisted in just about the most game-changing way possible, and you're left on that big bold beautiful cliffhanger.
Once more, I find myself not wanting to tell you that much more about it. Find it out for yourself, you will see that I was right not to. It's that big, and it's that good. We'll probably come back to it at year's end when it's time to talk superlatives. It's that kind of book.
Anyway, I'm just about too late once more! This late spring is messing with me something bad! I barely have time to ask you to please keep reading and subscribing! But that's still enough time to tell you that, until next week, you should HUMBLE YOURSELF BEFORE COMICS!