Koharubiyori
Indian Summer

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One of the advantages of reviewing manga, is that I often have the pleasure of reading some very, very good stories. However, occasionally my select-at-random-and-read method fails dismally and I end up stuck with a very, very bad manga. The one advantage, in this case, is that this is probably the easiest review I’ve yet had to write, although I might yet need counseling to get over the trauma of being confronted with such drivel.

Simply put, this little piece of nastiness is everything Chobits could have been, but mercifully wasn’t, thanks to the wonderful people at CLAMP having… well, a brain for starters.

Mizuki has taken ... (Stolen? Copied?) a similar concept (not to mention borrowing liberally from he is My Master too) and wrung every last ounce of humour, storyline, artwork and dare I say taste, out of it, leaving behind a withered husk of an excuse for a manga, that is neither funny, nor sexy, nor even remotely worth reading beyond the first few pages. Even within those, I found the main character’s obsession with dress-up dolls went beyond creepy. If it’s even vaguely autobiographical, then we’re dealing with a very strange individual here…

Avoid. As if your life depends on it.