steveatwaywords's reviews
1181 reviews

 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. 

Entering Kim's verse of reverie and fragmentation is not easy or even at times comfortable. But do. Her initial poems in this collection are the most abstracted, broken, even incomprehensible. But soon enough, we see what she is about, and the collection as a whole, the Commons, becomes a terrifying package of traumatic memory, of identity torn apart, of horror that we hope to un-imagine.

The more readers (and speakers) struggle for coherence or clarity, the more the poem resists, tempting us with a more complete meaning, even while--as we see it slowly emerge--we know that is is far better to tuck it back away. This is indeterminacy and ambiguity done right, poems that reveal as much as our consciousness can attend, but never what humanity will truly visit upon itself. The worst of it lives in the white spaces of the page . . . 

"Foods cast off from one culture become the fetish foods of another
l      b
Speaker: There will be misery in the years of greed. The world will become small and humiliated.
what is folder, are the persimmons
what is shelled, are the chestnut

==

"Bloom      already in mark
So that it were a bloom
Steeped in increments
Marks      as were scars

===

"deterge   to wash off or out, to clear away
s-s-s

shun     .    nestle
ravenous       .      seal
ash     .       gust

===

"Lifts up his burning
A strange now       a strange in my clean head"

It's hard to be incisive about popular culture, and it's harder to do and stay relevant years later. Greif is challenged here at both levels (hence his <i>n+1</i> publication which tries to keep up with the trends). As a white man explaining culture in academic prose to contemporary readers living it, he also paints a fairly large target on himself, a position he seems either oblivious to or doesn't care about--either way, a bit problematic.

So I didn't go into this anthology expecting the hip approaches of a Klosterman or the academic rigor of a [insert your favorite sociology PhD here].  Instead, I recommend reading Greif as a man willing to raise questions and challenges about our obsessions and fetishes, many of them truly (and rightly) diagnosing some deeper malaise that is worth our while to reflect upon.

Yes, the Radiohead and Kardashian essays don't play well, and the hip-hop claims have some powerful regions of deafness. But his discussions of our performative natures around exercise, about the clean parallels between our current military and Classical Age hero narratives, or--for me most powerfully--his redefinition of experience and its consequences for a more fulfilling life purpose, all resonate disturbingly for those willing to overlook the earlier issues. 

And how may we discover ourselves unless we--all of us, whoever we are--aren't willing to ask the questions? The alternative seems to be an oblivious purchase into a culture sold to us by tradition and trend, by popular acclaim and appropriating profiteers. For those who blithely reject Greif out of hand, excuse me, your, um, obsession is showing . . . .