The 12 stories of Osamu Tezuka's unfinished mega-opus Phoenix, published from 1967 until 1988, just before his death, present Japan's history as a series of atrocities—power games played by ambitious nobles at the expense of the lives of huge numbers of ordinary people, and, little by little, at the expense of humanity itself. Those who do the right thing are trampled and lost to history. The stories have repeating motifs of misguided searches for immortality, vain rulers unable to accept and plan for their own deaths, cycles of karmic rebirth, the degrading effects of technology on human life, greed leading to annihilation, official histories written by the most calculatingly brutal, severed left arms, a man named Saruta with a big warty nose, and love triangles involving a pure eternal love between people who can't be together and a gentle domestic arrangement between people who can. The stories alternate between those set in the past and drawn from the history and mythology of Japan, and those set in the future. The sci-fi stories are systematically less compelling. The clear standout of the series is Hō-ō (published in English as Karma), which can, like any of the stories, be read on its own.
Its big didactic themes can be cliched—pro-nature, anti-city, power corrupts, love is eternal. The phoenix as its central symbol, simultaneously for the hubristic ambition of its pursuers, and also for it's very buddhist view of the cyclic nature of life. But despite its fundamentally religious perspective, a running theme is skepticism of organized religion—religion as an instrument of political power. Tezuka is more than happy to set a shinto-pagan worship of ancestors and spirits as the noble alternative to an evangelical strain of buddhism.
But whatever the strengths and weakness of these stories qua stories, the series is a remarkable, landmark work of comics formalism, marrying "cartoony" humor and simple drawings with high seriousness and detailed realistic artwork. What stands out most, and makes me love the series without reservation, is a brilliant, avant-garde sense of how to use panels, breaking them into shards, following them around the page in mazes, building up a pointillist density of individual details in their own boxes or splashing giant spreads past the limit of the page itself, tearing panels, nesting panels, crashing characters across panels, slicing up individual images like the panels are windows onto a single scene. Each volume does things I've never seen before, including in the previous ones. Tezuka's creativity was bottomless.