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Falling victim to a double-cross, Envy tracks down Dr. Marcoh, only to walk into a trap that ultimately reduces him to his original, pre-humanoid form. “I know more about making philosopher’s stones than anyone else in the country,” says Dr. Marcoh, hanging mangled and bloody from Envy’s horrific tongue. “But because I know how to make them, I also know how to destroy them!” Afterwards, Scar entreats May to take the now-powerless Envy back to her country for study on immortality, though Envy does what he must to increase his chances of survival. Al, Winry, and the others then head out to the city of Lior, where Al is reunited with Rose as well as his father, Hoenheim, who finally shares the truth about himself, including a piece of information vital to the upcoming conflict. Meanwhile, Major General Briggs discovers the terrifying truth hidden in the bowels of Central City, and Ed–now recovered from his injuries–fails utterly to track down Al’s whereabouts, though he does encounter another long-lost companion with whom he forges an unlikely alliance.

This volume feels a bit like the calm before the storm. After the constant barrage of earth-shattering revelations contained in the past few volumes, Arakawa steps back to focus on relationships, but with an uneasy, anticipatory feel running like a strong current through each chapter. Not that this volume is lacking in new information, by any means. Both Briggs’ discovery and Hoenheim’s confession provide new insight into the homunculus’ ultimate plan, but these revelations seem intended to inform the characters rather than the reader, maintaining the story’s momentum at a strong, tense simmer, preparing itself to rise to a boil. That there is still a long way go to seems obvious, but during the volume’s final chapter, as a piece of key information spreads across Amestris from character to character, it feels very much like a final call to arms.

May’s story here is particularly poignant. Having become so much a part of the personal quests of some of the Amestrian characters (Scar’s and Al’s, in particular), her deep hurt in being urged to return home, even for the sake of her own people, is obvious and extremely touching. Arakawa emphasizes this by drawing her from angles which make her appear especially small, vulnerable, and occasionally off-kilter. With similar effectiveness, Arakawa also uses angles to help distinguish between the wildly erratic variations in the mental state of Greed, who is caught in an internal struggle between himself and Lin, whose memories still lurk within.

As a reader, the ground is always shaky whenever Ed and Al are apart from each other, adding to the mounting tension in this volume. Though it seems like the end must surely be near, this is a series that has never lost its momentum regardless of length, which makes me feel extremely reluctant to ever let it go. Fortunately I don’t have to just yet.

For long-time readers of the series, volume twenty provides further insight into characters both loved and hated, and continues to play out the complex plot so powerfully conceived from the series’ first volume. For everyone else, the time to start reading is now.

Review copy provided by the publisher.

Review by Megan M.

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This book continued the Roberta arc that began in the previous volume. I think it says much for this series that combat maids, typically considered to be a form of fanservice, are interesting, dramatic, badass, and very, very angsty. Well, one is angsty. I’m sure Fabiola will grow into it in time.

The beginning of the volume, despite actually featuring the main cast very prominently, is devoted to explaining why Roberta has returned to Roanapur planning to begin a war and who Fabiola (the younger, less violent, combat maid who appeared in volume 6) is. I admit I would happily read a book about Garcia Lovelace and his maids, especially if his other maids (who Fabiola claims aren’t trained for combat, but who knows?) are half as fun as Fabiola and Roberta are. The volume then spirals into Rock and (surprisingly) Benny, deciding to help Garcia and Fabiola look for Roberta, despite the fact that this is simply not the strength of either character.

I’m of two minds about Roberta’s storyline. Thematically and for the character I love it, right down to her hallucinations, her tenuous connection to reality, and her careful plotting to sink the entire town into a full scale war. On the other hand, her rampage (and possibly some of her current instability) seems to be fueled by misuse of Ritalin, about which there are already so many misconceptions that I can’t help but automatically cringe at its use here.

The volume also features an interesting conversation between Rock and Revy (much of which Revy spends naked, out of Rock’s sight) in which typical allegories are reversed, and Rock compares Revy to a gun and himself to a bullet that’s a useless lump of lead unless she fires him. In truth, far too many interpretations could be read into that scene. Revy actually has comparatively little page time in this volume, but what there is is very interesting and highlights how lost she is. I’m particularly fond of her reactions to Fabiola, who is physically able to withstand the harsh lifestyle of the Black Lagoon’s world but is still very young and innocent.

Little is seen of the supporting cast outside of Chang, who is assisting Garcia (I particularly missed Shenhua, who is my favorite character), but Eda’s brief appearance goes a long way towards explaining her role in Roanapur and her association with the church. It also seems to make her a little older than I had thought, as I had pegged Eda and Revy as being about the same age. I also wonder how much of it Revy knows and how she’ll react if she doesn’t know much.

This is a very solid addition to an already strong series, and according to the author’s note, the storyline it sets into full gear will impact the series for some time.

Review copy provided by the publisher.

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In the second volume of Kiminori Wakasugi’s gleefully vulgar series, Soichi Negishi continues to live his double life as a mild-mannered aspiring pop musician and powerful lead vocalist for an underground death metal band. As the line between his dueling identities deteriorates, Negishi finds himself falling into his Krauser II persona more and more often, especially in the presence of his longtime crush, Aikawa. Early on, he even stalks her when she accepts an amusement park date with another guy, eventually letting his jealousy transform him into Krauser, who humiliates her on stage during a “Victory Rangers” show. Later on, while rushing frantically back and forth from an interview (as Krauser) to dinner with Aikawa on her birthday, the blur between his conflicting personalities extends even to physical appearance as increasingly obvious bits of Krauser’s costume and makeup are accidentally left on in Negishi’s frazzled haste.

Also in this volume, Negishi is faced with two rival musicians who proclaim deep hatred for DMC and Krauser, one of whom turns out to be a beloved childhood friend of Negishi’s who has shed his old, kind-hearted identity as a means to personal empowerment. This is a particularly ironic (and effective) chapter as Negishi, who has essentially achieved the same end by giving birth to Krauser, urges his friend to turn away from his new, less compassionate persona in order to rediscover the boy Negishi so fondly remembers. Other episodes include Negeshi’s first encounter with a DMC fan website, an accidental Sid Vicious impersonation, staged sexual intercourse with a well-known Tokyo landmark, Krauser’s major film debut, and a surprisingly poignant look at the man behind DMC’s onstage “capitalist pig.”

The saddest and most fascinating thing about Negishi’s life as Krauser, is that not only does he very obviously use this persona as a (relatively) consequence-free means for acting out his darkest impulses, it seems likely that he’d have much better control over the way these feelings impact his “real life” if only he was willing to accept them as his rather than continuously using Krauser as the scapegoat. After all, it’s not that Negishi’s hidden depths are really darker or more dangerous than anyone else’s. Who among us has not entertained hideous (if fleeting) thoughts when confronted with strong emotions like humiliation, jealousy, or anger? We bury these thoughts, of course, in most circumstances, before they have a chance to become a threat to us or anyone else. By refusing to acknowledge these feelings as his own, however, Negishi deftly sidesteps the burial process, allowing those impulses free rein as Krauser, safely detached from his own identity. Would Negishi better control his deep resentment over Aikawa’s apparent indifference to his feelings if he had to deal with them the hard way? It’s hard to know for sure, but considering how deeply he values his carefully cultivated aura of innocence, I suspect that he would, and that perhaps it would even allow him to become someone more genuine than either of the personas he currently maintains.

An interesting point, of course, about Negishi’s offstage Krauser incidents is that they are not all bad. Though he obviously uses Krauser to act out his ugliest thoughts, especially those spawned by jealousy over Aikawa or, in one case, pride over Krauser’s legacy, he also uses Krauser to express feelings of concern or compassion–for instance, delivering fruit to a fan he believes to be on the brink of death. Perhaps it is not that Krauser allows him to be dark, but rather that he allows Negishi to be powerful in ways that Negishi can’t (or believes he can’t) manage on his own. Though Negishi is certainly vulgar, disrespectful, and often cruel as Krauser, he is also strong, decisive, and commanding–traits that could never be attributed to Negishi in his everyday life.

Despite all this discussion of Negishi’s particular pathology, something I admittedly find fascinating, it is important to note that Detroit Metal City is, above all, funny–a label that applies to its second volume at least as much as the first. Krauser’s big screen debut, for instance (in a film about a woman who finds love while struggling with an unknown medical condition that causes a horn to grow out of her head), displays a delightful kind of whimsy that is new to this volume. Though the series’ persistence as an episodic comic is disappointing for those of us who hoped to glimpse the beginnings of some kind of overarching plot, the humor holds up easily over the course of the second volume, even if Negishi’s situation never really changes. That said, the couple of brief fake-outs offered in this volume demonstrate just how fantastic it could be to see Negishi make a drastic change (such as quitting DMC) that might stick for more than the length of a single chapter.

With its relentless lack of scruples, questionably likable hero, and fractured, episodic feel, Detroit Metal City is not for everyone. Fans of the series, however, will find much to enjoy in its second volume. I certainly did.

Review copy provided by the publisher.

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After promising to call once he’s sorted out his feelings, Daigo has gone three months without contacting Ann and each passing day makes it more difficult for him to pick up the phone. Ann tries to be patient but is dying inside, saved finally by her friend Asa who places a call to Daigo on her behalf. Determined to be the one to put in the work this time, Ann rushes to the airport and flies back to see him. Meanwhile, Shika has been going all out to try to attract Daigo for herself, though she meets repeated rejection. Finally faced with Ann’s presence (and her own betrayal), Shika’s desperation leads to desperate action and though ultimately some things do end up going her way, the outcome is far from what she might have hoped.

As rare as it is for first love to last forever, particularly in ones so young, it’s still painful to watch such an intense relationship wane, especially when both characters are so likable and so obviously still in love. Though Ann’s considerable emotional baggage and Daigo’s hero complex make their relationship potentially damaging for them both, their mutual devotion is hard to beat and very difficult to give up easily as a reader. “No, no!” I found myself crying throughout much of this volume, despite the fact that both characters have equally appealing admirers waiting patiently (or not) in the wings.

One of the most powerful characteristics of this series, of course, is its nuanced treatment of love and friendship, and this volume provides an perfect example of that trait, if not in quite the way one might expect. Though the mangaka’s handling of Ann’s relationships with both Daigo and rival Fuji are as poignant and wonderfully layered as always, the most interesting interaction in this volume is between Ann and Shika. Alternately defiant and conflicted over her decision to steal her best friend’s boyfriend, Shika never loses either the love or jealousy she feels for Ann, and as a result, ties them both up in knots. The fact that this volume nowhere contains (or even remotely approaches) any kind of stereotypical cat fight or other confrontation between the two of them keeps the story’s melancholy feel perfectly intact, while also demonstrating the power of the characters’ long mutual history. Even while hurting each other, these characters are connected too deeply to relish the results or even to just be okay with them. This kind of thoughtful writing is perhaps what I treasure most in shojo manga and is certainly what draws me to this series.

Also in this volume, both Ann and Daigo face decisions about their careers–a common theme in high school manga–presented here with the same delicate anxiety that permeates the series overall. Both of their personal struggles here are highly engaging, as Daigo fights off snickers from friends and family when he sheepishly announces his intention to get into a well-respected public university and Ann fights her own complacency when she realizes she’s never developed any ambition at all beyond her desire to go back home and marry Daigo. This plot line only enhances the sense that the two of them may be growing irrevocably apart, as new love interests are the ones best poised to help each of them move forward.

Though this series’ art lacks the extraordinary poignance of something like We Were There–a series with a similarly melancholy feel–it is visually well-paced and nicely expressive with occasional moments of stillness and beauty that can be truly breathtaking. Body language, in particular, is one of the artist’s real strengths, which is a great asset to her already-rich characterization.

For those of us who prefer our shojo manga heavily weighted in sweet, sweet angst, choosing Sand Chronicles is no-brainer and its fifth volume could not possibly embody this aesthetic more. Bring some tissues and dig right in!

Review copy provided by the publisher.

Review by Megan M.

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Picking up several months after the end of volume one, Yako has settled into his job at the exorcism agency and Rasetsu is starting to feel the pressure of the fact that she has a deadline by which to find her true love if she wants to break the demon’s curse.

In truth, I rather hope that she finds a way to break the curse without having to rely on a theoretical “true love,” whether she finds one (or realizes one who’s already with her) by then or not. In this volume, she takes the first step towards the eventual goal of finding her true love by realizing, apparently for the first time, that some of the men in her life exist in a sexual way, specifically Yako and Kuryu. While it may seem strange for a girl to not start to develop that awareness until she’s eighteen, this particular girl’s first exposure to sexuality was being attacked by a demon intending to make her his bride.

In another manga, Rasetsu’s flushed awkwardness at times with both men would come across as being wishy-washy and no doubt signal the beginning of an annoying triangle. While there may yet be a romantic triangle, annoying or otherwise, Rasetsu doesn’t come across as wishy-washy at all. Instead, she begins to realize that in addition to being large, often annoying, and often useful slabs of meat, they’re also kind of muscular and maybe interesting to look at. Possibly they have other interesting attributes, too. It’s like an adolescent boy hitting puberty and realizing that there are possibly other things to do with girls than pull their pigtails and push them off swings.

For his part, Yako seems to be largely oblivious to the possibility of Rasetsu as a romantic prospect, despite realizing that he has a degree of interest in her due to her resemblance to the ghost he was in love with in high school. Part of this is clearly stubbornness on his part but I suspect that he would also likely never consider an eighteen year old as a romantic prospect, being older than she. While his age hasn’t been established, I would guess that he’s around twenty-three or four–young enough to still be an acceptable romantic prospect but old enough to know he shouldn’t be chasing after her. Kuryu, however, is harder to pin down. A part of me wants to label him as “totally sekritly evil,” but it’s impossibly to pin down when he’s serious, when he’s playing around, and when he’s up to something.

While the problem of Rasetsu’s curse and the mystery of the ghost Yurara remain continuing threads in the series, the plot remains largely episodic, dealing with Rasetsu, Yako, and Kuryu being sent after and exorcising various ghosts. We also learn that Yako can use blood, not just water, to bind spirits, and see more of what Yurara was like soon after her curse and her first meeting with Kuryu. We also get a hint at what ‘s happened with the ghost Yurara, as well as Kuryu and Rasetsu forcing Yako to unbend and have fun, though that backfires on them in the end.

Review copy provided by the publisher.

Review by Megan M.

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In a world that seems to combine standard high fantasy with modern day Japan, roughly one in every five people is born with magical abilities. For some, magic comes easily, but others have to work hard at it their entire lives. Miel comes from a family with a history of magic and her older sister, Sara, is a powerful sorceress, but she isn’t very good at magic herself. She is, however, unusually strong, and when she accidentally clobbers a boy, Radi, with her handbag, he asks her to show him around town. Inevitably, Radi is revealed to be Radian, the heartthrob prince, operating in disguise to uncover a criminal ring abducting young women.

Miel is a fairly normal shoujo heroine with tsundere tendencies. As Radian, Radi appears to by a normal perfect, charming, dull shoujo prince. As Radi, he’s a typical sweet and goofy (but with hidden depths) shoujo hero. Individually, neither is overly involving or original but together they’re very endearing. Both only seem to really be comfortable with each other and Miel seems to be pretty well aware that she actually isn’t sure which personality is “real.”

I’m annoyed that, inevitably, Radi/Radian is extremely skilled and always the one to save the day, while Miel isn’t good with magic and is actually ashamed of her strength. By the end of the volume, however, she’s made considerable progress with her magic and seems to be more comfortable with her strength, which Radi/Radian actually thinks is cool. This is more enjoyable than it is technically good and there’s little consistent plot beyond Miel repeatedly stumbling across Radi/Radian while he’s in disguise somewhere, and her determination to get better at magic so she can go to the palace. This is, I believe, also only two volumes long, so I doubt a plot will develop.

There’s also a short story titled “Daisy Romance” at the end of the volume. I say “short,” but it actually takes up roughly a fourth of the volume. It’s set in what looks to be Japan’s Taisho era. In it, a young woman named Asagi becomes involved with a Robin Hood-like thief named New Moon. A less-philanthropic thief has been impersonating New Moon and has targeted Asagi and her mother. “Daisy Romance” relies on similar tropes as “The Lapis Lazuli Crown”-specifically the hero having at least two identities and always saving the day, and the heroine being determined to discover the hero’s “true” self-but I would actually be even more interested in reading more of Asagi and New Moon’s adventures than Miel and Radi/Radian’s. This, I suspect, is due to the setting and overexposure to Robin Hood retellings in my youth, as those are the main differences between the two stories.

Review copy provided by the publisher.

Review by Lorena Nava Ruggero

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Five unforgettable characters learn about life and love in this coming-of-age tale set in a small arts college. Love triangles abound as they try to figure out what they want from life, whether living as artists is enough and wondering where their next meat-filled meal will come from. But, Hagu, Mayama, Yamada, Takemoto and Morita learn to lean on each other in unexpected ways as they make their way towards full-blown adulthood.

In the last volume, Takemoto decided to go on a bike ride—a long bike ride. While he’s still going nowhere fast, he runs into a group of workers restoring a temple. Since his bike is broken down, they give him work so he can make enough money to buy a new one. While he’s initially happy to help as a gopher and cook, the awful truth (and the accompanying emotional torture) of his unknown future sneaks up on him again and he decides to hit the road anew.

Meanwhile, Hagu is teaching art classes to elementary school kids, and Yamada and Mayama are trying to figure out how to deal with each other professionally. While Yamada is still knee-deep in the despair of unrequited love, her and Professor Hanamoto have a serious talk that leaves him a little cold. Of course, once Morita gets involved, things get a little crazy and, subsequently, Yamada—remember, she’s known as the Iron Lady—ends up tossing him and his opinion aside!

Honestly, I love Honey and Clover. The characters, the situations they’re thrown in, their (at times) bleak experience in life and love—it all comes together in a perfect storm of the “quarter-life crisis.” While it would be so easy to let this devolve into a melodramatic and pitiful look at life after college, Chica Umino keeps the characters’ and readers’ spirits up by throwing in slapstick comedy and heartwarming moments. Out of all the entertaining and thought-provoking scenes, I particularly liked when Hagu examined her own ineptitude through the lens of a student’s difficulty in creating “real” art.

It’s also a fitting metaphor for what everyone is going through—the young boy is trying to create award-winning art, yet he can’t create anything remarkable as he’s trying too hard. And it really reflects what everyone else is working and failing at—by trying so hard to be successful at something (like job-hunting, love or painting), the serendipitous joy of spontaneous creation is lost. The resolution of Hagu and her student’s emotional self-reckoning is almost too honest. Truthfully, it was also the first time that I was brutally aware of how ridiculously young-looking Hagu is.

Otherwise, Umino’s art is as it has always been—somewhat sketch-like with minimalist details. Her lines seem momentary and fleeting, like the characters she draws. Screentone is sparingly used with efficient care, emphasizing emotions and adding shadows where needed. But, her strength is in drawing scenery and backgrounds; she draws the landscape in such a way that it draws the eye inward regardless of panel size. There’s also a nice bit of detail in the vertical panels illustrating Takemoto’s northward journey. I especially like the thoughtfulness of these glimpses into Takemoto’s experience. It’s illustrative in a disarming, yet familiar, way.

Honey and Clover continues to entertain, to tug at the heartstrings and make me think. It’s earnest, thoughtful and difficult to not connect with in some way. If you’re looking to think and laugh your way through a manga, you would be hard-pressed to find a better series than this one.

Review copy provided by the publisher. To read more reviews by Lorena Nava Ruggero, visit her manga review blog, i ♥ manga.

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After her politician father is arrested for corruption, Haruna Aizawa transfers from her elite private school to a run-of-the-mill high school though, from her perspective, there is no great difference between them. She sees high school as being like living on Monkey Mountain–watching a gang of monkeys fighting each other over and over again, establishing and re-establishing their hierarchy. Her theory is quickly confirmed by the first student she meets at her new school–a grinning imp of a boy named Masaru Yamashita (“Macharu” to his friends)–who strongly reminds her of a baby monkey. The rest of the students are the usual crowd, including the class “prince,” Atsu, and a gang of unfriendly girls, and Haruna keeps herself at a distance as much as she possibly can.

Trouble is, there is one student she can’t seem to distance herself from no matter how she tries, and that is Macharu. When she’s around him, her heart pounds and her skin goes tingly, leaving her utterly confused. Fortunately, Macharu feels the same way and as the first volume winds down, the two begin to explore a relationship together, despite their strong personality differences and Haruna’s initial embarrassment over having fallen for a short, goofy guy like him. As the series continues, their relationship grows and Haruna even goes so far as to introduce Macharu to her estranged father (“…because I want to be with him for a long time.”), though her father only ends up hurting her in the attempt.

In volume seven, Haruna and Macharu face the question of taking their relationship to the next level physically, and nearly every situation throughout the volume comes back around to that issue. First, an overnight stay at an amusement park is interrupted by family illness. Later, a half-drunk attempt on Haruna’s part is thankfully thwarted by an unusually level-headed Macharu. The sexual tension in this volume is impressively thick for a series that has been notably chaste so far, and it’s hard not to root for the two of them to finally give in to their feelings, they are so sincerely adorable about it.

Also in this volume, as they begin their last year of high school, Macharu is made painfully aware (thanks to Haruna’s tactless father) of the fact that his mediocre academic standing and lack of ambition is likely to separate him from Haruna after graduation. Determined to turn his academic performance around so that he can pursue the kind of college and career that might keep him in her league, he delves determinedly into a brutal summer prep course, but though he is racing to catch up to her, it is Haruna who somehow ends up feeling left behind. “Unlike me, Macharu can have a good time anywhere he goes,” she muses as she tearfully contemplates the possibility of Macharu heading off to college without her, despite the fact that it is she who first declared her own plans to study abroad.

What is especially charming about this series is the personalities of and relationship between the two main characters who remind me of no other shojo manga couple I can think of, though their relationship does call to mind legendary 80s romance, Say Anything (without quite its special brand of whimsy or the assistance of Peter Gabriel), which may explain why I enjoy it so much. Unlike most shojo heroines, Haruna is deliberately detached from everyone around her, particularly those she cares about most. She is fearful of being hurt and awkward with her feelings–so much so that she frequently ends up being unintentionally mean or rude, especially to Macharu. As their relationship becomes sort of a pet joke of their classmates’ (not maliciously so, for the most part), Haruna is frequently teased about her feelings for him which, especially early on, generally causes her to deny them adamantly, despite the fact that in doing so she is often humiliating Macharu.

Fortunately for Haruna, Macharu is, well, Macharu. He is eager, cheerful, endlessly energetic, and so used to the (mostly) good-natured teasing from his classmates for his goofy behavior and unsophisticated looks (he is frequently mistaken for a middle-schooler) that Haruna’s coldness and self-protective insults pretty much roll right off his back. He is a simple soul–utterly without guile (though he is not nearly as naive as his friend and rival, Atsu, might wish for him to be)–and he possesses just the right amount of fantastic quirkiness to keep him from becoming predictable. His relationship with Haruna is both deeply unlikely and utterly charming, and though it is Macharu’s exuberant, childlike warmth that is most irresistible as a reader, it is his surprising moments of maturity combined with Haruna’s rare outbursts of true feeling that keep their bond intact. Whether there is anything that either of them can do to hold on to that bond as their lives pull them in different directions remains to be seen.

Though the series contains all the usual school romance trappings (the amusement park date, the cultural festival, the school trip, etc.), its protagonists’ unusual dynamic prevents these things from feeling too stale within the context of the story. The series is charmingly and expressively drawn, and it’s important to note that though the artist does accentuate Macharu’s monkey-like movements and energy throughout the series, it is done so naturally that it simply blends in seamlessly with his personality.

With its slow-paced plot and standard high school setting, Monkey High could easily get lost in a market flooded with similar-looking titles. Fortunately, its quirky characterization and richly drawn relationships make it stand out from the pack.

Review copy provided by the publisher.

It’s a fast-paced read with a lot left unsaid (something I tend to like) and some readers may feel bewildered by how many questions are left hanging at the end of the volume, but I enjoyed myself immensely. Check out my review here.

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Convinced that the royal couple’s relationship will improve if they consummate their marriage, the elders trap Chae-Kyung and Shin together overnight, hoping to create a romantic mood. Unfortunately for them this just makes things worse as Shin’s stubbornness causes him to let Chae-Kyung go on believing that he does not care for her and she has too much self respect to lose her virginity under those circumstances, regardless of her own feelings. Confronted by Yul the next morning, who pulls Chae-Kyung in for a hug that is too close for either her comfort or Shin’s, Shin buries himself further by piling on insults and hurtful comments that only cement Chae-Kyung’s pain and feelings of disgust. Not that Yul is in any better position with her by the end of this volume. Though Yul arranges for Chae-Kyung to visit a sick family member, his confession of love only helps open her eyes to his darker motivations, further proving to her that the royal family is one seriously screwed up bunch and making her own unrequited love even more painful as a result.

This volume is a fairly astounding example of just how much damage can be done by simply refusing to be honest about one’s feelings. Though Chae-Kyung is definitely holding things back at this point out of sheer humliation, the real culprit here is Shin, whose inability (still) to admit that he missed Chae-Kyung when he was on his trip to England (or to return a single one of her calls during that time) is largely responsible for building up the veritable ocean of misunderstanding, resentment, and paranoia sent spiraling like a hurricane throughout this volume. Chae-Kyung’s level of insecurity in her relationship with her husband has been built up almost calculatedly by Shin himself, though he seems oddly perplexed at the inevitable consequences of his words and actions.

That Chae-Kyung has a temper of her own is undeniable, but as the fish out of water in this world, she’s got a lot more of my sympathy than anyone else. It’s too bad that Shin hasn’t been able to muster any of that himself. it’s maddening to watch him thinking things that, if only verbalized, would change everything between them. Not that he’s significantly different than most teenaged boys, but the amount of power he wields in his position (particularly in their marriage, where traditional chauvinism is practically enforced by the state) magnifies his typical teen boy issues along with everything else in their lives. “Does the royal family begin their education at birth?” Chae-Kyung asks tearfully after their confrontation with Yul. “Is that when you learn to hurt people deep down in their souls? Do they teach you how to damage someone’s pride?” Though it is gratifying to hear her say these words out loud, they seem to have had little effect as of yet.

If the two previous paragraphs are not proof enough of how caught up in this series I’ve become, I’ll offer more. Though I found this volume intensely frustrating on an emotional level, I’ve paused several times while writing this review just to reread large sections of the book–not because it was necessary for the review but because that’s how easily it is able to lure me right back in. Not only is the story entirely addictive, but Park SoHee’s artwork remains a favorite of mine among manhwa artists with all its intricate detail, not only in the gorgeous traditional gowns and headdresses so common in this series but also in the characters’ modern-day hairstyles and clothing choices.

I’m an emotionally-driven reader, which often leads me to gloss over visual details as I rush through from one heart-wrenching moment to another, gobbling up the story like the delicious confection it is. The art in this series, however, makes me want to take my time poring over each panel. These two impulses battling each other all through the volume is probably more humorous than anything else, but I think it also is a great illustration of just how enthralling this series can be on both visual and emotional levels. Though I could still do without the manhwa-ga’s weirdly unattractive chibi art, at least this volume is very low on Eunuch Kong, who apparently has a life-long secret that may actually render him as something more than a tasteless running gag.

Fans of romantic shojo manga who haven’t quite caught the manhwa bug would do well to start with a series like Goong. It is smart, dramatic, funny, and just a little bit trashy in the very best ways.

Review copy provided by the publisher.