Book Review: Manga: A New History of Japanese Comics by Eike Exner (UPDATED)

Reviewed by John A. Lent, International Journal of Comic Art (UPDATED 12/28 with a response from Exner)

Eike Exner. Manga:  A New History of Japanese Comics. New Haven:  Yale University Press, 2025. 256 pp. US $37.50. ISBN:  978-0-3002-8094-4. https://yalebooks.yale.edu/book/9780300280944/manga/

  In just his first two books so far [Comics and the Origins of Manga: A Revisionist History and this one], the young--and independent--researcher, Eike Exner, has made monumental contributions to manga studies, revising historical points; taking exception to, and challenging, long-held “facts” and notions with newly-discovered evidence that he has uncovered; filling in gaps in manga’s timeline, and carefully and methodically analyzing nearly every aspect of manga.

A couple of his revisions pertained to the origin of the term “manga” and the connection between early audio-visual technology and comics. Exner reasoned, the claim that Hokusai Katsushika’s Hokusai Manga was connected to Japanese comics was unfounded; though some of the 19^th-Century woodblock printer’s manga were meant to be funny, none was of a narrative stripe and many were simply images of buildings and plants. To make his point, Exner made the analogy that to connect the sketches to comics is,

 

akin to suggesting that the history of Super Mario Bros. should be traced back to shōgi (Japanese chess) because they are both games. Games did not change from one thing into another; people decided to apply the word game to a new category of objects. Likewise, manga did not change or evolve from Hokusai’s manga into comics; people began using the word for a new category of objects, based on an assumed shared characteristic rather than a direct connection between the two (11).

 

To Exner’s thinking, the connection between early audio-visual technology and comics is more than “sheer coincidence” as commonly assumed. Rather, it is because of a “casual connection” that comics creation followed the “spread of pantomime cartoons, motion lines, pain stars, and depictions of sound, and coincided with the spread of film and sound recording” (22).

Among many misconceptions that Exner rectifies are the almost-sacrosanct image of the so-called “god of comics,” Tezuka Osamu, pointing out his tendency to exaggerate and, occasionally, lift whole scenes from others’ works, and that akahon (cheap comics that plagiarize popular characters with new stories) were published solely by small, short-lived firms, when actually, a huge percentage of them were the product of a large enterprise into other forms of entertainment.

Exner makes a herculean attempt to fill out the entire timeline of manga history, providing a six-page chronology from 1890 to 2017 as an appendix, and supplementing periods shortchanged in previous research, such as the 1920s, which, he showed, yielded the establishment of today’s top three comics publishers and the first Japanese magazine that topped a million circulation, namely, King.

At times, Manga: A New History of Japanese Comics goes into diversion mode, dishing out what can be classified as mini-instructional “lectures,” for example, on how styles change; the technical use of color, hatching, and stripping; the importance of viewing topics in a contextual manner, etc. When doubt clouds conclusions, Exner utilizes common sense logic--e.g., the “simplest explanation is most likely the correct one” (22) or the most plausible reason among a batch of notions should be chosen.

As is his nature, Exner spent many hours in national and university libraries across the United States and in Tokyo, scouring the original newspapers and magazines and referring to any relevant correspondence available. He also gathered data from collectors of manga and other researchers’ interviews. The book is thoroughly documented, with notes that carefully explain, add to, take exception to, and even supplement, what Exner wrote in his first book. It appears that interviews were not conducted.

One of the few shortcomings of the book is the sparse treatment of manga during the war years, 1940-1945, although Exner devotes some space to the 1930s’ wartime comics. But, for those five years of the early 1940s, it would be useful to know how many manga were published, by government and private publishers, under what restrictions, by whom, with what type of content, and with what effect? What were the contents of any decrees issued referring to censorship generally, and how did they apply to manga? Where there any instances of publishers or artists who dared to ignore censorship rules; any examples of underground publishing or artistry activity?

The other criticism of Manga… is directed at the publisher, Yale University Press. It would seem that a press of Ivy League prestige and out of respect for the work of a dedicated scholar, would have treated the work more professionally A large section of the book is barely readable, using a smaller and faint typeface--pages 214-248, that include a chronology, notes, bibliography, and index. A number of the images stood to be upgraded by enlargement and better placement while being photographed.

Readers of Manga:  A New History of Japanese Comics, or any work by Exner for that matter, can expect the excellence associated with his name--research that is very comprehensive and wide-ranging, an abundance of information that is rigorously scrutinized and carefully analyzed, and writing that is clear and concise--even casual and seemingly effortless at times--, meant to instruct, educate, and entertain. A full package, to my thinking.

[Full Disclosure:  The reviewer was one of five individuals who wrote testimonials for this book.]

A version of this review will appear in IJOCA 27-1. 

UPDATE: Notes from Eike Exner:

I'm very grateful for the kind review (and John's previous support for my work). 

I'll add two small points of clarification: the reason for the little space devoted to manga between 1942 and 1945 is that there were only a handful of serialized strips during this time and I already had to ask for an extension to the original word limit. Discussing that period in greater detail would have given it undue prominence compared to its historical importance. My next book will examine the period in great detail, however. 

Yale University Press is not primarily to blame for the images not being perfectly aligned. Many materials were only available from institutions that will only make physical copies for patrons. I could have tried purchasing more historical materials myself but that would not have been possible for all. Most images should ideally be larger, but the larger the images, the weaker the claim to fair use, for which there are no clear standards. 

One reason why I went with YUP is that they were willing to claim fair use, which not all presses are. I looked into asking for permission for all images but learned that this is not practically feasible; in many cases it's not even simple to find out who currently holds the rights to works by deceased creators, and even if you do figure this out it's often not clear how to reach the rightsholders. It was also important to me to include those images that I thought were most useful to understand the history, not whatever images I could get permission for, which would skew the visual representation towards certain creators.

Book Review: Conversations with Rick Veitch

 Reviewed by Joe Hilliard

Conversations with Rick Veitch, edited by Brannon Costello, University Press of Mississippi, 2025. 226 pages. $25 paperback, $110 hardcover. https://www.upress.state.ms.us/Books/C/Conversations-with-Rick-Veitch

Conversations with Rick Veitch is the 34th volume in University Press of Mississippi's “Conversations with Comic Artists” Series. It follows the structure of previous volumes with an introductory overview essay, a chronology of the creator's life and career, and then a collection of interviews in chronological order, starting with the oldest from 1987 to a 2023 interview with the editor, Brannon Costello. Costello frames it all neatly in that introduction: "Veitch is both a shrewd observer of the pitfalls of the marketplace and an eloquent spokesman for the boundless potential of creativity." (x) And that's what makes this book so compelling. Not just Veitch's observations, but the consistency of his opinions over those 35 years. There are several strands that run throughout and intertwine with each other. As Veitch puts it: "[l]ike say you wanted to get a handle on the quantum, you might be able to through dreaming, because on the deepest level, we are made up of quantum bits, so why wouldn't we be able to dream about how we interact in the quantum realm?" (75-76)

And it's best to start with Veitch himself, as both an outsider looking in and insider looking out. His life really encapsulates the comic book world from the early-70s to the present: from underground comix creator to student of the first class at the Joe Kubert School of Cartooning, to mainstream books like Swamp Thing and Aquaman at DC, to his around-the-world of independents with Alan Moore, to self-publishing, to educational comic work, to his newest ebooks. It's interesting to see even as he works on the production side, as detailed in the 1963 interviews and his discussions on self-publishing, he talks of the art, not the business. In 1992, a prescient Veitch is looking forward, seeing what the corporate beast is up to. "People in twentieth-century America live, eat, breather, and defecate superheroes. All the time. Without even thinking about it. But the only problem with that is nearly all the superheroes are owned – lock, stock, and work-for-hire – by a few major companies who have no reason to evolve their characters beyond a certain adolescent level. And if this archetype is as vital and important as I think it is to our culture, then it has to grow. To keep it stifled is in a way to keep our whole culture stifled." (43) His constant concern with the art form, not the business, permeates the interviews, and indeed, his life. "My goal has always been to promote the art form, to explore the art form, to feed the art form, and maybe the collapse or the semicollapse that we're watching now is actually a good thing, because maybe new ways to get comics from creators to readers will develop." (155) This is Veitch in 2021 talking about the covid-caused collapse of Diamond Comics well before its final 2025 implosion. Veitch has consistently had his finger on the pulse of the comic world. "The people who run the business in comics are not thinking about the art form." (155) And the art is preeminent to Veitch.

Intrinsically tied to his view of the art form is Veitch's work in dreams. His dream comics, his most personal work, rolls directly from his early reading of Jung to the present. "It's deeper than that, a unique art statement providing a fifty-year record of the dreams of a modern human being that culminates in a real transformation late in life. For anyone who is searching for the meaning in their interior lives, it provides a model and, more importantly, a reason to keep going. Decades of dreamworking churn through all of the bullshit we have accumulated and open a door to something really beautiful and indelible." (189) It's where the art comes from. His Roarin' Rick's Rare Bit Fiends goes deep into that well, exploring not just his dreams, but that of other creators. Indeed, he see dreams as a source, that quantum connection. "If Keith Richards got the base riff for "Satisfaction" in a dream, he's still the author. Now there are a couple of possibilities there. One is, it's something he heard a bazillion years ago and it just sort of surfaced, it came back. The other possibility is that music is a mystic realm, where this stuff all exists. I like to think of it that way." (82) That view is echoed in Jenny Boyd's Musicians in Tune: Seventy-Five Contemporary Musicians Discuss the Creative Process (Fireside, 1992) where she quotes Richards: "I don't sit down and try and write songs, I wake up in the middle of the night, and I've dreamt half of it. … I am not saying I write them all in my dreams – but that's the ideal way." (Boyd, 102) For some artists, dreams are the backbone of self, and creation.

This leads directly into the next major theme of Veitch's conversations. Fundamentally, he sees community as necessary for the continued development of comics, as not just an art form, but in any form. "We want everybody to succeed; we want the art form to grow. We want everybody to have a chance at doing it. Manhattan publishing is much more about straight capitalism, selfishness; everybody's in it for themselves. If you can screw your buddy, you've got to do it." (98) Going back to his time with Joe Kubert, at the beginning of his career, Veitch expands that communal aspect. "We [Kubert and Veitch] would sit, and I’d pitch an idea to him, and the two of us would start playing with it. That's when I first really learned the pleasures of collaboration, where two people kind of surrender their egos to the story itself. It's not about who comes up with the idea that gets used. It's that it's the right idea for that story." (207) It's a mentality he goes back to again and again. Not I. We. As he notes in discussing his 1980s work with Alan Moore, John Totleben, and Stephen Bissette. "It was like, We gotta fix this, this is a beautiful American – worldwide – art from, and it's being strangled by business practices. So that's the difference. We were ambitious for ourselves to a point, but I think we were more ambitious for the art form itself." (119) When Americans used to think bigger about what society could do, should do, as he reflects on his own art education, and getting into the Kubert school. "This is back when our government actually would step in and help people when there was unemployment." (86)

Editor Brannon Costello neatly ties Vietch’s career together with last interview, pulling these disparate thoughts into one beautiful knot. Quoting Vietch's Azoth: "[F]antasies are all about generating wish-fulfillment scenarios for our fears and desires. But imagination tackles reality head on. We use our imaginations to build things, solve problems, make art." (214). Leave it to Veitch for the final word, looking to the future, dreaming the future as he always has.

"I see myself as an artist now who, instead of doing dystopian things, needs to do things to provide solutions to the problems of our world, or at least provide a spiritual direction for people to look toward to find a meaning in their lives." (200)

Book Review: On Black Bandes Dessinées and Transcolonial Power

 reviewed by John A. Lent, International Journal of Comic Art

Michelle Bumatay. On Black Bandes Dessinées and Transcolonial Power. Columbus:  The Ohio State University Press, 2025. 155 pp. US $36.95 (Paperback). ISBN:  978-0-8142-5937-5. https://ohiostatepress.org/books/titles/9780814215821.html

 Any time a new book appears that concentrates on a large segment of Africa and its comics art, celebration is in order, for the pickings have been slim. Anthologies of a particular cartoonist’s work, such as that of Zapiro, Barly Baruti, Marguerite Abouet, Gado, and other masters, are more readily available, as are biographical treatises and analytical monographs on specific characters. However, few continental or regional overviews exist.

So, a hearty welcome to Michelle Bumatay’s On Black Bandes Dessinées and Transcolonial Power, that consists of four chapters that analyze the works of Francophile West and West Central African cartoonists, from the Congo, Ivory Coast, and Cameroon.

The author sets the parameters of her study as being built around “key moments, artists and authors, themes, and publications” of Black bandes dessinées, which include, “political and editorial cartoons, serial publications and self-published magazines, anthologies, mainstream and independent albums, blogs, digital comics, and mobile apps” (15). Though the methodology of the work is missing, it seems to be a qualitative textual analysis with a small mixture of biographical analysis. Bumatay emphasizes the key role that the Franco-Belgian colonial heritage and ongoing imperialism have played on the development of Black bandes dessinées, as well as their effects on the artists, cautioning that the artist’s work varies from “individual to individual and from one project to another” (130), and that attention must be paid to context.

Notions about important West/West-Central African traits and issues are systematically analyzed/argued by Bumatay--that self-fashioning is a “crucial component” of Black cultures, exemplified in her case study of Kinshasa from the late 1960s to the 1990s; how Abouet markets her comics through the postcolonial exotic, and how she pushes for a “new inclusive understanding of universalism that demands a reworking of notions of gender, race, and power” (130); how Black bandes dessinées, for decades, have decried borderization’s (Northern migration) ruinous impacts, raising levels of brutalization, suffering, and indifference, and how these cartoonists have fashioned their styles to become “symbolic forms of restitution” of the world’s environment.

What Bumatay has achieved here is praiseworthy--giving her interpretations of the works of some African bandes dessinées cartoonists, supported by close readings of their works and backed up by similar notions and ideas of a host of researchers from different fields. That was her intention, well and good.

But, let me go off on a tangent--in no way, to devalue the merits of the author’s work--, and ask, are these interpretations aligned with what the artists intended? We don’t know unless journalists and researchers ask them, and, in this book, there does not appear to be evidence that any interviews that may have been done with the artists were used. It would not have been an onerous task for Bumatay to search for interviews in this high-tech age, and, if none is available, which is very unlikely, she could have conducted the interviews herself. Granted that interviewing was not a part of her research plan, so, maybe it can be a major part of her next research project.

The four artists discussed at length in On Black Bandes Dessinées… are still alive, active, and likely accessible. Barly Baruti (born 1959, in the Congo) has lived in Belgium since 1992; Marguerite Abouet (b. 1971, in Ivory Coast) resides in Romainville, France; Papa Mfumu’Eto 1^er (b. 1963) is still in Kinshasa, Congo, and Japhet Miagotar most probably is still around, having been interviewed as recent as 2019. To make matters even easier should Bumatay choose to pursue a topic of this nature, much of the original art of Mfumu is being archived at the University of Florida, not far from where she is an assistant professor, Florida State University.

A suggestion for a future research project for an author whose book is being reviewed may seem to be out of place, and, it may be, but it was made with good intentions, one of which was to get my point across any way I could, that interviewing cartoonists while they are still with us is extremely important for comics scholarship. Okay, point made. Sorry, Ms. Bumatay, for the interruption.

To wrap up, On Black Bandes Dessinées and Transcolonial Power is a valuable contribution to comics scholarship, because it enlightens about cartooning in a part of the world where comics art research is sadly scarce; hones in on a few distinguished cartoonists, allowing for in-depth analysis; for the most part, soundly makes and defends its many arguing points, and employs a rich mixture of secondary sources.