A psychologically damaged delinquent named Shogo is cursed to perpetual nightmares of tragic romance.
This is more of a parable or allegory than it is a fleshed out story. The characters lack depth or a robust set of traits and their actions are poorly motivated. The plot is simple and cyclical. Shogo meets a woman, starts a romance, then one or both die horribly in a disaster. Repeat ad nauseam. It’s a passive setup where forces act upon Shogo more than Shogo takes action. He’s violent, angry, and impulsive, incapable of forming and pursuing a rational goal.
In an attempt at variety, each scenario has a different, wacky setting, but each is so superficially constructed and poorly thought out that it does little to garner interest. A bunch of goofy twists come and go out of nowhere, none of them with any purpose other than filling pages.
The story touches on a host of emotionally fraught topics — suffering, death, torture, love, lust, infidelity, jealousy, abuse, rape, mental illness, the Holocaust etc. Grave themes alone can’t give a book gravitas, however. Apollo’s Song offers only the cheap manipulation of emotion and shock value. Such as animals smashed by rocks.
The author is trying and failing to say something about the power of love. Perhaps that love perpetuates suffering, but also redeems it. It’s hard to tell through all the random violence.
The art is quite bad, with little detail and poorly drawn characters. The anatomy, expression, and construction are on a basic level that is almost insulting. The linework is crude and ugly. No thought or care is evident; the goal seems to have been producing as many pages as possible.
The storytelling is very well done. I think this is why Tezuka is the “god of manga.” It flows smoothly and reads clearly with a good variety of camera angles and framing, and plenty of space to breathe, including many panels that are used to show reactions, clarify action, or set mood. This somewhat cinematic approach to panel layout is far beyond what was practiced in the west at the time, with western comics using static, flat camera angles, repetitive framing, and dense, crowded pages. In fact western comics didn’t broadly employ the more sophisticated manga storytelling techniques until after the turn of the millennium.
Apollo’s Song juxtaposes a simple cartoon style with brutal, troubling content that touches directly on real world tragedies and fears. This combination, perhaps a bit counterintuitive, is actually effective at creating drama and has been used in other books such as Maus and Persepolis.
The nature of the cartoon is to simplify — to reduce something to its essence, distilling what is important and thereby emphasizing or exaggerating it. Thus people can read their own lives and experiences into the cartoon symbols, filling in their own details as it were. More realistic art when dealing with these themes almost inevitably comes off as melodramatic — think of Neal Adams’ or Alex Ross’ weeping characters for instance.