While The Man Without Talent is by turns mysterious, philosophical and slapstick, it is also tender, capturing the moment-to-moment shift in emotions of a frustrated man who nevertheless loves his child. In a book about valuing the left behind, Tsuge shows us what is never actually at risk of being forsaken.” —Hilary Chute, The New York Times Book Review
"Tsuge’s raw and profound work is equal parts pathos and poetry, streaked with irony and ribaldry. His lines are beautifully clean and wonderfully expressive, the pages sometimes presenting expertly cartoonish simplicity and other times almost photorealistic detail. . . . Humanity stunningly observed—a treasure." —Kirkus, starred review
"Tsuge’s quasi-autobiographical series of vignettes are a masterpiece of mundane struggle. . . . Every page feels lived and desperate, yet shot through with poetry.” —Publishers Weekly, starred review
"This fascinating collection presents a Japan of scruffy shops and quiet streets in which forgotten men tell strange stories.” —James Smart, The Guardian
”My most pleasurable reading experience of 2020 was Ryan Holmberg's translation of Yoshiharu Tsuge’s The Man Without Talent (NYRC). Holmberg's translated dialogue is full of vernacular poetry, which I imagine/hope is quite close to the experience of reading the Japanese version. It certainly fits Tsuge’s gorgeous cartooning, which is often unfussy and employed to effectively tell the story, but sometimes surprises with its soft and loving approximation of the Japanese countryside and shacks full of possessions . . . I haven't been able to recommend this book enough.” —Nicholas Burman, The Comic Journal
"[A] deeply philosophical parable about capitalism, art and beauty, and the pressures of modern life. . . . It is easy to see from this book how Tsuge has become one of Japan’s most celebrated gekiga (“dramatic pictures”) artists." —Ella Bucknall, The Times Literary Supplement
"Drawn in stark black-and-white panels, Tsuge's frank narrative portrays an artist-in-decline, an anti-Bildungsroman that offers effective storytelling, enduring characters, poignant reflection and, most notably, gratifying art. . . . Holmberg's [essay] 'Where Is Yoshiharu Tsuge?' is an illuminating enhancement—biographically, historically, literally." —Shelf Awareness
“Success is only in the past, for Sukezō and his acquaintances, and the melancholy, mediative tone persists to the end. Beautifully drawn and shaded, frequently matched with poetic writing, this is an exceptional introduction to a master cartoonist.” —Pete Redrup, The Quietus
“[A] semi-autobiographical story that follows a former mangaka as he tries to find new, bizarre ways of providing for his family. . . . Tsuge highlights the struggle between soul-sucking, banal poverty and the desire to lead a simple, peaceful life. . . . The Man Without Talent allows the author and the reader to explore the fantasy of leading a contemplative life; but where other authors would laud such a lifestyle, Tsuge is bitterly honest about how such a lack of responsibility affects those around his protagonist while simultaneously proposing that there are too many demands in modern society.” —Morgana Santilli, Comics Beat
“With its depiction of life in a liminal space at the point where an economic system is decaying, there probably wasn't a more timely reprint all year. Holmberg's translated dialogue is full of vernacular poetry, which I imagine/hope is quite close to the experience of reading the Japanese version. It certainly fits Tsuge’s gorgeous cartooning, which is often unfussy and employed to effectively tell the story, but sometimes surprises with its soft and loving approximation of the Japanese countryside and shacks full of possessions.” —The Comics Journal “The Best Comics of 2020”
12/01/2019
Once an acclaimed cartoonist, Sukezo Sukesawa no longer finds any value in his own work and devotes himself to a series of largely misguided schemes in order to provide for his family. After some initial success selling restored antique cameras, he becomes interested in the aesthetics of stone appreciation, an art dating back to ancient Japan and still practiced by a small number of devotees, and begins hunting the river near his home for rare specimens he believes he'll be able to sell for a healthy profit. His wife's insistence that he's a lazy fool only grows after he takes her and their son to a stone auction where his samples are deemed worthless. VERDICT While the opening chapters deliver a portrait of an artist's ennui, later scenes depicting Sukesawa's interactions with the owner of a bird store and a bookseller in his village reveal that Tsgue's (Nejishiki) actual interest lies in a withering dissection of male entitlement in a rapidly changing society.
★ 2019-12-23
This first English-language edition of a work by influential Japanese comic-book artist Tsuge follows an impoverished, embittered comic-book artist whose unconventional search for riches keeps him in league with schemers at the fringes of society—much to his wife's angst and young son's distress.
Whether it's selling stones he finds near his home, repairing and reselling cameras bought from a junk store, or even carrying people on his back across a shallow river, Sukezō Sukegawa will do just about anything for money—except create the comic books for which he has received critical acclaim. He pridefully resents the lack of money in comic books, though he fails to sell any stones either. Sukezō's pursuits introduce him to shady characters, such as the alcoholic head of an "art stone" association and the man's libidinous wife, and to outsiders such as a homeless man whose uncanny connection to birds allows him to effortlessly gather exquisite specimens for sale. Though Sukezō's wife resents his inability to make money—and the costs associated with his offbeat vocations—Suzekō provides for the family in his own, unbalanced way, as when he combines a stone-hunting trip to the countryside with a hiking trip for wife and son. The trip is a disaster: Sukezō's asthmatic son melts down over the train schedule, fecal matter likely slips into the family's noodles, and the three of them lie by a river and wryly contemplate suicide. Tsuge's raw and profound work is equal parts pathos and poetry, streaked with irony and ribaldry. His lines are beautifully clean and wonderfully expressive, the pages sometimes presenting expertly cartoonish simplicity and other times almost photorealistic detail. Tsuge has a soft spot for outsiders yet is acutely aware of how they can end up dead in a field somewhere, covered in their own filth.
Humanity stunningly observed—a treasure.
