Note: I reviewed both volumes together, so what follows is the same review I posted for volume 1.
Call me a hypocrite, but not only do I love “not equal” by Reibun Ike, I think it's one of the most profound and moving works of any genre that I've read in the last few years. It takes Yaoi tropes and wrestles them into a sustained cultural and moral critique that is astonishing in its audacity. It’s equally courageous by dealing with an issue that is hazardous for creators who are reliant for their livelihood on the good graces of a pop culture audience.
I’ve written blistering reviews of authors who try to disguise child abuse as inter-generational love. This manga deals with an issue that is perhaps even worse. Said issue is incest, specifically, between father and son. I'm not sure I've heard of any kind of work, popular or otherwise, dealing with this theme. It’s near non-existence as a subject makes “not equal” noteworthy. Just mentioning father/son incest immediately triggers thoughts of abuse, manipulation, power, moral depravity and mental derangement. That Reibun deftly sidesteps these concerns by focusing on the sincere and authentic emotional needs of her characters, who start out as teenagers in volume 1 and then appear as adults in volume 2, is an impressive storytelling accomplishment. It helps that the meeting between son and father that leads to their mutual attraction occurs through a bit of magical realist time travel.
In current day Japan, Ryou feels unloved and abandoned by his father, Konomi, who left Ryou and his mother when Ryou was a baby. Konomi, meanwhile, feels unloved but also profoundly alone in life.
Having not seen his father in ten years, 17 year old Ryou goes to see him. Not long after he arrives, Ryou finds himself transported back in time, meeting the 14 year old Konomi in the past. Even though Ryou knows the young Konomi will grow up to be his father, the boys fall in love. Volume 1 spends most of its time in the past, showing how and why the boys fall for each other. Despite the fact that we, as readers, know the truth, the relationship between the boys feels genuine, sincere, and somehow needed by both. It's right at this point that Ryou gets yanked back to the present, disappearing before the 14 year old Konomi’s eyes to reappear before the middle-aged Konomi in the present.
It’s the revelation that Ryou, his son verging on manhood, is the boy that Konomi loved so desperately when he was 14 that occupies volume 2. Konomi rejects Ryou once he realizes the truth, triggering again Ryou’s sense of abandonment but also Konomi’s own intense feeling of isolation and loneliness, this time compounded by self-recrimination. If volume 1 provides an authentic validation for the father and son’s mutual attraction, volume 2 deconstructs the myriad reasons why this love is not possible.
Interestingly, Reibun makes Ryou, the son, the seme and Konomi, the father, the uke. While not eliminating the psychological and moral issues, nor the near instinctual repulsion we feel about the relationship, this role reversal does temper (or, at least, reframes) the issues of power, manipulation and abuse that such a relationship normally triggers in us. Spanning several years in the present, during which Ryou grows from a 17 year old student to a successful 20 year old IT tech, volume 2 pits the love the men have for each other against the moral and social strictures keeping them apart.
The art, except for a few panels, is gloriously rendered and perfectly paced. In the few instances where the drawing doesn't quite match the rest of the work, it’s the occasional, oddly rendered profiles that seem off-key. However, regarding these few panels and going back through both volumes, I think what Reibun is doing is sacrificing representational perfection for expressive intensity. And both volumes are visually intense; riveting might be a better word. Only 1 or 2 other manga have held me so totally enthralled to the visual mastery of a mangaka. In “not equal,” visual form fits narrative function in a way I don't think I've ever experienced before.
This work will disturb you. That's why, with these two volumes, Reibun proves herself not just an entertainer, but an artist in the truest sense of the term - a person whose skill and technique supports a courageous examination of the unknown, despite the potential for harsh criticism from others. Artists take us not only on journeys of wonder, but also take us to places of extreme discomfort. When handled well, we all benefit from their brave and tenacious exploration of new horizons. The two volumes constituting the “not equal” series are a perfect example of an artist stretching her wings, turning something that most would turn from in disgust into a work of outstanding beauty.