Ayako

Ayako weighs in at exactly 700 pages, making it a book to be reckoned with. It is in fact a Book, beautiful and well-published (but probably too big to carry around casually; an e-reader edition would have been awesome, but alas). Perhaps because of the way it has been published, in a tasteful, hardcover, single-volume edition, its ad copy attempts to market it as a Novel, stating, "Ayako looms as a pinnacle of Naturalist literature in Japan with few peers even in prose, the striking heroine a potent emblem of things left unseen by the war." I read the publicity, got really excited, and had Amazon ship it to me on the day it came out. If people were comparing Ayako to Faulkner and Tolstoy, why shouldn't I read it immediately? Unfortunately, although Ayako is certainly a major accomplishment in the field of graphic novels, I am going to have to put my foot down and declare that it is not in fact on par with the best of Japanese prose. Far from it. As literature, Ayako is riddled with problems.

Let's start with the storytelling. The plot is highly improbable from beginning to end, and its developments often don't make much sense if the reader begins to question them. The ending, which reeks of poetic justice, feels especially heavy handed. If one simply accepts the story as it unfolds, it's not so far-fetched that it's ridiculous, but "a pinnacle of Naturalist literature" it is not. The pacing is also highly uneven; certain key plot points happen way too quickly. This refusal to let the reader slow down and figure out what's happening is especially bad at the beginning and end of the book, which are obviously the worst places for a hastily drawn story.

Another thing I expect from the novels I read are a cast of deep, multi-faceted characters, but the dramatis personae of Ayako are all one-dimensional. The Tenge patriarch and his oldest son, for example, are evil simply because they're bad people. The two most complex characters, Jiro and Shiro, merely flip between "good" and "bad" like cutout paper puppets. Ayako, who has the potential to be the most interesting character, is the most disappointing. The cover of the book says everything you need to know about her: she is young, beautiful, and mysterious, and she very much wants to have sex with you. We see her breasts, butt, thighs, and panties more than we hear her speak. Of course she is seriously psychologically damaged, but Tezuka doesn't give this the narrative weight it deserves, choosing instead to have us view her through the eyes of his male characters, who regard her as both pitiful and sexually irresistible. A "striking heroine" and a "potent emblem," indeed.

Other minor characters are so cartoonish and caricatured that they don't add much of anything to the story. In fact, one might say they detract from it. Multiple clones of Popeye, Olive Oil, and Dick Tracy don't really help the story construct itself as "serious literature," and Tezuka's brief attempts at humor feel inane and misplaced. On that note, the art quality in Ayako can sometimes be shockingly bad. The cartoon character designs and the rushed artwork are much better, however, than Tezuka's occasional attempts at realism. Such drawings are, quite honestly, unlovely, and their effect on the flow of the story is akin to someone jumping onto the train tracks.

Such an awkward analogy brings me to my final point of contention: the translation. I believe that dialect is something that is much more natural and naturalized in written Japanese than it is in written English. Unfortunately, the translation of Ayako not only draws unnecessary attention to itself but also robs the Tenge family of any power, dignity, tragedy, or pathos they might have originally had by making them sound like the Beverly Hillbillies. There are also strange aberrations in the speech of certain characters, such as when a character with otherwise unmarked speech suddenly starts calling people "Guv'nor" in the last quarter of the book.

Any of these problem areas - narrative structure, pacing, characterization, art, translation - would potentially be a deal-breaker by itself, but together they make Ayako awkward and almost unreadable at times. Ayako is therefore a deeply flawed work, and its flaws are of the type that are simply annoying without adding any depth to the story. I am giving the book four stars, because, despite everything, it is an excellent graphic novel. If you come to it expecting a literary masterpiece on par with The Makioka Sisters or The Sound and the Fury, however, you're going to be sorely disappointed. Ayako is not high literature. It is a comic book: an engaging and thought-provoking one that was ahead of its time, but a comic book nonetheless. It is not for literary types seeking an introduction to manga, and it is not for casual manga fans seeking an introduction to Tezuka. Unless you're really sure that you want to read Ayako, warts and all, you're better off trying a Tezuka title like Buddha or Phoenix. Better yet, skip the history lesson and go straight to Naoki Urasawa, who achieves the beauty of art and novelistic scope and density of character that perhaps Tezuka could have aimed for had he not been working on a dozen projects at once.

Of all the reviews I've read of this book, the most strikingly off are written here. I found this work to be a near-masterstroke of comix genius, sans a few things here and there, which the other reviewers have pointed out well (and not so well). I couldn't help but feel this was an epic on the scale of "Apollo's Song", though "Ayako" follows a very different story arch (one of family and not of self). Sakuemon Tenge, in his most feverish moments, reminded me of none other than King Lear; a despot and a fool despite his title among the country's men. The characterization of many here is deep, and like most Tezuka (and Shakespeare), he is concerned with what Jacobethan's would've called "problem plays"-- the moral center of Tezuka's characters is never fully defined, we are only witness to their actions as they unfold. Some have called the narrative sloppy. No one dare call "Hamlet"'s narrative plot-holed; with epic tragedy some element of fantasy must be obtained while an element of disbelief must also be held to continue an otherwise ending narrative yarn (think Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's "dilemma"). The titular character herself is left alone (literally and not) for much of the book. Those like myself, interested in the punishments that Malvolio faced in Twelfth Night, wish she had more introspective depth and poise. A minor complaint.

Those saying the ending was a little ham-fisted: we're in agreement, here. It feels rushed, and like "Dororo" and "Phoenix" was probably a result of Tezuka working on a dozen projects at once. If any man could pull off that work ethic, he could. The translation never bothered me while I read. This isn't Tezuka's masterpiece, but it's a beautifully packaged addition to your growing Tezuka library. At ~700 pages, it isn't for the initiate (start off with some Black Jack), but it is a glimpse into the hectic and intricate mind of the God of Comics.

"Ayako" by Osamu Tezuka is a masterpiece. On the surface, it is a startling story of events in post-WW2 Japan. However, within those pages, it challenges how we think about life, death, family, and country. I thought "Buddha" was his opus until I read "Ayako."

"Ayako" is the story of a girl who is the daughter in the Tenge clan, a family in the Japanese countryside, coming to grips with the land reform that threatens to upend their way of life. More sinister and damaging yet is the degenerate patriarch of the family. I will not spoil the book for you, but some of his actions are reprehensible. It is a testament to the freedom of press in Japan that Tezuka was able to publish this book at all. Jiro Tenge, a son who comes home from the war, instead of dying valiantly for his country, is another main character.

This masterpiece is a thrilling way to understand both Japanese culture, especially during their own "cultural revolution" after losing WW2. If you have ever wondered what life is like in a country that loses a war, this work will let you understand some of the long-term damage it inflicts.

In many ways, the Tenge clan's evildoing and horrible fate is a metaphor for Japan in it's involvement in WW2. It is no secret that Tezuka is a pacifist, but in this work, he elegantly, violently, shows the high cost of WW2 to Japan. No one in the Tenge clan is spared; even the youngest, most idealistic, clever son is ultimately corrupted. That leaves Ayako.

I will not spoil the plot for you, but I will say that the brutal treatment of Ayako is metaphoric as well, perhaps on several levels. Is she Japan itself? Is she the natural world? Is she a metaphor for the old, ordered feudalistic society of Japan pre-WW2? Is her naïveté pure in nature as it appears on the surface, or does something more sinister lurk beneath? This masterpiece asks many more questions. Maybe "Ayako" is the Japanese (or greater human race) character itself, good in its truest form, corruptible, weak, yet not what it appears on the surface? Do societies, particularly traditional Asian cultures, have too much emphasis on "face" while perversion lurks beneath the surface? (If this sounds like it explores some of the same themes director David Lynch prefers, it does.)

"Ayako" has a compelling plot, so it is easy to be caught up in it and think that story is the only point. If you do that, you are missing a lot. The artwork is compelling; some of the imagery is so haunting and bizarre it will stick with you.

Some say this novel does not compare to "The Watchmen" and it is not "Shakespeare." I beg to differ. "Ayako" soars to the heights of the best of literature, graphic and text alike. If you want an experience that will achieve the ultimate goal of great art - to change your way of thinking forever - then you must read "Ayako."

Ultimately, Tezuka gives us a small whiff of hope at the end - or does he?

Magnificent illustrated Japanese literature! I truly enjoyed reading this book.

Ayako is an odd book. If you've read any of Tezuka's other books then you know exactly what I'm talking about. Some things just don't translate well. Aristocrats read like farmers and strange abbreviations leave you questioning whether the speech bubbles actually match the pictures. Is it British-English? Japanese-English? American-English? I don't know. Often you'll be left scratching your head wondering what the hell is going on... and its great!

You see all that oddness yields an unusual kind of charm. Is it flawed? Yes. Is it a great piece of literature? No. Do I care? No. The story isn't cookie-cutter. Its rich and complicated - just like the artwork. Ayako is a challenging and rewarding read. I loved every page.

You can't compare this to Watchmen, The Boys or Asterios Polyp. For as diverse (and brilliant) as those other books are, they were written on planet Earth. Ayako on the other hand was surely written on planet Mars. Its that different! It allows you to peek inside a world that's completely foreign to most of us. The world shown to us isn't Japan. Its Osamu Tezuka. If that appeals to you then buy this book. If not then look for some more men in tights.

Brutal, dark, relentless, and deceptively innocent styled art from Japan's best. This is NOT Astro Boy! Just after WWII, a man goes back to his family, dishonored. The family has no compassion, and the tale unfolds over dozens of years.

Tezuka is God. Anything he did is worth a look and this is a prime example of his greatness.

I picked three stars as a compromize between 1 and 5. I'd give it five for quality and how the author did exactly what he was trying to do. However, I'd give it a 1 in that the story was very upsetting and somewhat alsomost pornographic. It definatly NOT for children. This is an important warning, since a lot of his other work is either aimed at or at least approriate, for children.

Amazon saw fit to delete my long retort to Meatball Head's review, so now I'm inspired to write my own full review. It was a bit of a rant, admittedly, but it had flashes of insights here and there, which I will be preserving in this piece.

Ayako is fat volume of 700 pages, arguably Tezuka's masterwork. It is not a perfect piece of literature, but it is, contrary to Meatball Head's claims, a piece of literature, detailing, almost as a back-handed love-letter to Faulkner, the decline and fall of a provincial Japanese family. Exceedingly dark and wholly in the realist mode, it is not a work for fans of conventional Japanese comics, or manga, given that it consists entirely of people acting badly in outrageous ways, and that there are almost no supernatural or science fiction elements in the text. For the average reader, it must be noted, there are almost no likable characters in the entire text; Hanao Geta is closest to innocence, yet in certain interpretations he can be seen as a rapist.

Yet it is not exploitative; it does not revel in darkness for darkness's sake. A common complaint by more astute readers is the apparent exploitation of having a nude underaged girl (for she is of that age) on the main cover, and having her, at the wrong ages and at the wrong states of mind, engage in graphic, but not erotic, sex with people who are often her family members. It is obscene, of course, but it's a post-modern device; a theme of the novel is exploitation and corruption, and here the text attempts to make the reader complicit.

So, I may have described to you an entirely unappetizing work, one more suited to the incinerator than the library. Nonetheless, it is a respectable, if somewhat risque, piece; I merely seek to warn readers of what they may find offensive and let them, if they choose, look elsewhere. The strengths of the text actually lie in the psychological complexity of its various broken or corrupt birds; if you like Yukio Mishima, you may yet like Ayako; if watching psychological grotesques break things around them makes you retch, go watch Madoka Magica instead.

While not a single character in the piece can be considered heroic, each character is rendered believably and subtly. Part of the fun of reading the piece is watching characters behave in ways that may at first seem inexplicable, but with experience and context, become mournfully true. For instance, Shiro's meanderings recall Gregers from Ibsen's _The Wild Duck_, where injured idealism results in the worst possible outcomes, and his descent into corruption and insanity is well-rendered, if not necessarily sympathetic. Other reviewers have noted that Jiro's final change of plans seems utterly irrational, but it's true to his character. His ultimate motivation is not moral regret, but a sense of giri and a sense of shame. What he seeks more than anything else is to avenge his mistakes and clear his name, and for that he betrays Ayako, for whom he pledged to protect and make whole once again. Each character has one or more tragic flaws, causing reviewers in other languages to call this Tezuka's attempt at Shakespeare.
Although I do consider this a work of literature, it is not an excellent work of literature, for both the author and the translator make on occasion deep missteps. The translator, for instance, opts to render Kansai dialect as American Southern English. The intent is understandable; it connects the literature to the Southern Gothic genre and reflects the Tenge (literally, Sky Outside in Kanji, implying fallen from grace) family's status as landowners, and like Southern English, Kansai now has a hick connotation, but it fails to render the subtle prestige of the Kansai region, from which Japanese civilization began. In my deleted comment, I had made the suggestion that a Boston Brahmin accent would have been far more cutting as a depiction of dialect, and would have radically improved many readers' enjoyment of the text. Another translation error is the choice to translate the text on much of the art directly into English; Japanese calligraphy has its own aesthetic flavor, and the editors seemed delinquent in their choice of typography, rendering the text more vulgar than otherwise; it would have been a better choice to resort to footnotes.

As to the mistakes of the writer, in an early scene, Tezuka opts to give Jiro a histrionic act of repentence; it comes off as bathetic. Also, with such a lengthy cast of characters, much of the character insight must be inferred; many critical characters occur in only too few scenes and a longer work would have better fleshed them out. Tezuka also chooses an aggressive strategy of allegory and symbolism; this may be literary, but it is not necessarily good art. Viewing the text as an allegorical system can bring more enjoyment to the work, but it should not be concommitant on the reader to decrypt the symbolic system just to enjoy the text. Yet there is a certain pleasure in watching for symbols, metaphors, and references; the allegory of the cave repeats itself often, Shiro, as mentioned before, recalls a certain Ibsen character, and there is a frisson of pleasure in Hanao's last remark, that the cave in which they were entrapped was so close to the surface.

All that said, for the price, it was a good work and a pleasure to read, but the flaws in translation mean that if you can read it in the Japanese original, you should do so, even belaboredly. However, the manga is not for those easily-offended, or those who have little interest in bad people acting badly. If reading Crime and Punishment or Thirst for Love (which also has an incest-by-marriage subplot) is your idea of fun, by all means, go ahead. If Gone Girl turned your stomach and you walked out half-way, you'll be asking for a refund.

I am a huge fan of Tezuka's work and find the depth he can he can put into anything quite amazing. If you are not a fan of graphic novels since you believe they are only distorted male power fantasies with superheroes saving the day I suggest you read this novel ... It is more complex and intelligent than most of the books you will ever read ... !