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This is a manga that genuinely left me sick when reading through it. In many ways, it feels like a successor to previous psychological coming-of-age stories. No Longer Human and The Catcher In The Rye come to mind, but unlike its predecessors, Punpun often feels too painful to stomach through, and too shallow to appreciate. Between depictions of sexual assault, murder, cult activity, and suicide, there's nothing particularly meaningful and cathartic when trudging through the bulk of the story. It begins relatively innocent when Punpun is still in elementary school, but by the time the story reaches into his high school years, it becomes a ... form of self-torture having to flip through so much immorality and self-hatred, only to realize that there is still more to come. It requires a lot of patience too, because the story doesn't always stay straight, often deviating to accommodate the stories of side characters that never really matter or fail to leave an impression like Punpun. This is to say, characters like Aiko, Sachi, Yuichi, Seki, Shimizu, Mama, and Pegasus are never more than thematic extensions of Punpun's dark and depressing nihilism. Punpun meanwhile feels contradictorily shallow despite his life experiences. It's very unclear what he values when he grows into a teen and young adult because of his nihilism, making him difficult to understand and identify with. He often makes decisions that are either self-inflicting or hurtful to others, which makes him a very unsympathetic and even evil protagonist.

Goodnight Punpun is a very difficult manga to stomach, even though there are moments of beauty, friendship, and love that sprinkle throughout. They are very far and few between, but they can sometimes lead to a catharsis to the ever-deepening darkness of this manga. The realistic line art and backgrounds can be good and even great at times too. The manga also has a much stronger start than its exhausting descent into madness. This is all to say that Punpun can be of fine quality, but because of the relentless pummeling of self-hatred and misanthropy that overwhelms the story's second half, it's not a good manga to enjoy nor is it a particularly deep one either.

After falling in love with the last known descendant of a mythical, near-extinct werewolf lineage, the college-aged Hana embarks on an intimate journey into motherhood that would appear nothing less than a whimsical fairy tale to entertain both young children and elderly couples. The narrative of this strange family drama is utterly remarkable, yet remains so innocent and unassuming in its writing and storytelling. Simultaneously intertwining three life experiences through masterful storyboarding, Wolf Children inspires in a manner that is extraordinary in cinema. How ironic that this animated work began so humbly from such a simple premise. To say the least, Wolf Children never begins ... so intensely, to the extent that the werewolf father’s early or fateful death could be remarked as predictable and melodramatic. Much of that early beginning’s charm derives from Hana’s strength and patience into such an early stage of single motherhood, as well as how Yuki and Ame quickly establish their opposing temperaments in their infancy and early childhood. Although unoriginal, Hosada builds a solid foundation that hereafter marks a humble beginning to an unraveling, epic adventure that remains as complex to such a unique premise, as it is realistic to shared expectations of parenthood and coming-of-age. Away from the bustling chaos of urban Tokyo, and together amidst a rural community beneath the shadow of a mountain, Hana works even harder when pressed by the difficulties of nature and its tests of resilience. Meanwhile, Yuki and Ame decisively discover their identities and confidence as human-wolf hybrids. Evidently, the two children diverge in their paths and embrace the separate halves of their upbringings, as experiences of isolation or belonging remain utterly apparent in this bizarre family circumstance. Eventually, Hana, Yuki, and Ame each discover and reflect on separate paths for themselves in a satisfactory if premature finish. The beauty of their collective journey is no less evident because of Hosada’s confident direction and storyboarding, where merely hanging the camera on a single frame builds anticipation for these poignant human relations. The voice actors and music follow, breathing an unforgettable authenticity into every sound. Thus, it seemed an absolute certainty that Wolf Children would move me in such a heart-rending fashion. In retrospect, however, I far underestimated what is Hosada and Studio Chizu's most precious, animated work. Wolf Children is nostalgic of an exciting maturity into young adulthood; self-assured of a triumph in maternity.

Transgressive, exploitative, and disturbing, this is a horrid tragedy of abuse that in rare glimpses looks into the depths of society and its failings. I'd recommend it if you are prepared for its content, but don't take it so seriously. Take your time, because it's a miserable experience, but it's still only a story. It's not real, or at least it can't turn out this awful.

Otherwise, the middle part does feel padded out and tedious compared to the striking opening and the resonant final chapter. It's still disturbing, but by then you should be accustomed to the manga's stylings. You can probably speed through ... it. Hopefully.

Tokyo Ghoul is a very technical piece of manga literature. Very often, as a reader, you will struggle to keep track of all of the erratic inking, intense calligraphy, positioning of speech bubbles, and creative paneling. This is to say that TG is some of the most striking art you can find in modern mangas. Sui Ishida, whose skill may not yet match a Kentaro Miura, proved his potential during Tokyo Ghoul's initial run. Every page pops with hard blacks and stark whites, imprinting a consistent visual style that conveys the series' psychological brand of horror. It's obvious that Ishida paints greater detail in each ... of his characters' movement and action, even as his panels are left neglected with either harsh white backgrounds or generic underground/office scenery. But in the moments of levity that Ishida graces his readers with, it can make for some of the manga's most beautiful moments, such as an isometric view of the peaceful Tokyo ward.

I've gone into great detail in praising Ishida as an incredible artist, which is to say I can't speak very highly of his skills as a writer. With so many characters, and their respective motivations, backstories, and subplots, the Tokyo Ghoul often feels bloated with excessive world-building, especially during the manga's quieter segments, such as a visit to meet a famous author. That is to say, Ishida's writing suffers from inconsistent storytelling. The lack of focus is best exemplified by protagonist Ken Kaneki, who never maintains a consistent objective or goal in his personal journey. Consider his awkard or abrupt moments of characterizations, and it becomes difficult to understand Kaneki as a hero and as a leader by the story's climax. Regarding the narrative's premise and central moral conflict, Ishida had the opportunity to delve much deeper into the blurred, ethical nuances of his Ghoul and Human characters, but otherwise chooses to make these comparisons with archetypical or caricatured individuals; never really saying more than "the real villain is society."

I thus enjoyed the manga more for its art than the story it tells. Ishida is immensely talented with his art, even as his breakthrough series reveals flaws in his storytelling.