O Homem Sem Talento

by Yoshiharu Tsuge, Esther Sumi (Translator)

Originalmente publicado em 1985 no Japão, O Homem Sem Talento é um trabalho icônico do gênero mangá watakushi (“quadrinhos do eu”), como são conhecidos os quadrinhos autobiográficos japoneses, cujo pioneiro é justamente o próprio Yoshiharu Tsuge. O protagonista, alter-ego do desenhista, é um autor de mangá que se recusa a comprometer seu trabalho e ceder às pressões da indústria editorial. Diante das vicissitudes da existência, ele parece determinado a tornar sua vida uma estranha ode ao fracasso, vendendo pedras retiradas de um rio perto de sua casa. Pedras que ninguém parece ter interesse em comprar. De maneira lenta, mas persistente, o “homem sem talento” se coloca à parte de uma sociedade que não lhe interessa mais, enquanto sua esposa insiste em vão para que ele encontre uma maneira de dar uma vida digna à sua família. Ao longo das páginas, Tsuge transforma essa história de fracasso em um poema assustador e desesperado, mas com um toque de humor e uma irônica redenção.

Genres: Manga, Comics, Graphic Novels, Japan, Fiction, Graphic Novels Comics, Bande Dessinée

240 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1986

About the author

Influenced by the adventure comics of Osamu Tezuka and the gritty mystery manga of Yoshihiro Tatsumi and Masahiko Matsumoto, Yoshiharu Tsuge began making his own comics in the mid-1950s. He was also briefly recruited to assist Shigeru Mizuki during his explosion of popularity in the 1960s. In 1968, Tsuge published the groundbreaking, surrealistic story "Nejishiki" in the legendary alternative manga magazine Garo. This story established Tsuge as not only an influential manga-ka but also a major figure within Japan's counter-culture and art world at large. He is considered the originator and greatest practitioner of the semi-autobiographical "I-novel" genre of making comics. In 2005, Tsuge was nominated for the Best Album Award at Angoulême International, and in 2017 a survey of his work, A World Of Dreams And Travel, won the Japan Cartoonists Association Grand Award.

Reviews

[Dave Schaafsma · Rating 5 out of 5]

I’ll admit that one reason I picked this up is because, since I had just read Tsuge’s The Red Flowers, I saw that my Goodreads friend Rod Brown disliked both Red Flowers and The Man Without Talent, so I knew right away that I would like it. Rod, as far as I can tell, hates miserable loser main characters in grim manga-gekiga stories. Well, he’s in part right about that regarding the main character, but it just impacted me differently.

Yoshiharu Tsuge is the older brother of Gekiga author Tagao, whose Slum Wolf and Trash Market I had reviewed here. He is revered in Japan for his “I-novels,” or auto-fiction, and this book, The Man Without Talent, is held in high regard there for its literary and artistic merit and for elevating the status of comics/manga. Tsuge suffered lifelong psychological problems, including decades of depression, and for some reason resisted having his work translated into English for a long time. Ryan Homberg, in a fine essay in this volume, shares Tsuge’s interesting purpose in writing auto-fiction, from a 1937 Tsuge essay:

“I came to enjoy [my stories] being read as fact or close to fact, and the protagonist being imagined as the artist myself. I thought perhaps I could use the style of shishōsetsu to confuse fact and fiction, mislead people about what the artist is like, and thereby hide my true identity. Using self-concealment as a means of self-expression myself and have always preferred to hide. There is only one way to really do that, however, and that is to stop drawing altogether.”

So this is interesting, right? Autofiction as concealment, or disappearance? Tsuge actually did stop drawing in 1987, though he returned to write this novel, his longest form work, originally serialized in 1985-86. The book features Sukegawa (Tsuge's stand-in protagonist) who lives with his wife and son, his wife being miserable that Sukegawa does not seem to want to draw comics, which had proved to be his best source of money for the family.

Instead of focusing on his drawing of comics, the book in six chapters focuses on his main character’s encounters with various other “men without talent” who are also just scraping by in society--stone sellers, bird sellers, junk men, antique store owners. In a robust capitalist system, such men as Tsuge and others he encounters in his life of traveling around Japan, visiting hot springs in out-of-the-way places, are off the grid. Men that consider various ways of “vanishing” off the treadmill of daily life. Sukegawa/Tsuge finds these men completely reasonable in the face of economic “progress” embraced by most societies.

I was reminded when I read this of The Beatles’ song “Nowhere Man,” so I smiled when I read that a film by that very name had been made based on Tsuge’s story. The alienated man. Maybe such as Bartleby the Scrivener. Reminded me of manga I had read with a title something like, Tomorrow I’ll Give it My All, featuring a 30-something guy not working, still living at home, with a vague notion of becoming a manga artist. In contrast, Tsuge achieved early and then intermittent success with his manga, yet choosing to vanish on walking tours of rural Japan from time to time. Capitalism and the arts, a fraught relation. And depression.

The opening sequence is sort of absurdly hilarious, wherein Sukegawa sits all day waiting for customers to buy stones he has collected. Ordinary stones he gets from an unremarkable local stream-bed. No one ever comes to buy anything, day after day. Waiting for Godot! He talks to other stone/rock sellers who are of course knowledgeable about geology, but also going broke. He sets goals to travel to different areas to find more exotic rocks. Doesn't this sound amusing? Or maybe to you it sounds sad? I think it's both.

In subsequent chapters Tsuge meets junk dealers, bird sellers, all low-end experts in dying trades. In one store he buys broken cameras, fixes them and sells them for a profit, but this does not last. There are moments in this section that make it clear the intended audience is adults, as he fixes one camera and takes sexy pictures of his wife.

The whole obsession with things of little material value reminds of the passionate collecting obsessions of humans such as the subject of The Orchid Thief, but I also thought of those of us who collect thousands of these rectangular paper objects with words on them. Non-readers think this practice of hoarding books is a waste of time, too, a "hobby" with little merit. Things without value in a capitalist society, but of great artistic value.

So the ultimate effect for me about this guy and all of the men in this novel is that they are some combination of sweet and melancholy. Humor and pathos and wonderful drawing from the sensei. I do feel sorry for the wife and son, who have to suffer through their relationship with this dreamer. But it is a picture of economic precarity in tough times. Showcasing with some sense of humanity the underclass, just as Slum Wolf and Trash Market are from his brother. I think this is a classic, one of my faves of the year.

[Tosh · Rating 5 out of 5]

I'm always fascinated by people who want to disappear in literature. Yoshiharu Tsuge, the ultimate cult manga artist/writer, seems to be a fellow who wouldn't mind disappearing into the mist. His manga masterpiece "The Man Without Talent" is a somber journey of rejecting society by staying in tune with one's intuitive choices - whatever it's good or bad. The series of stories is all about one character that we are lead to believe is the author, with a small son and wife. The wife is frustrated with her husband's lack of common sense, and the son picks up the tragedy of it all just being there. He's the little boy who tells his father, "it's time to come home."

Tsuge's main character decides to open up a 'stone' store by the river. These are not unique stones by any means, and they all come from the local river. Anyone can pick up these stones, but Tsuge chooses his inventory carefully so that he can sell them. Still, a stone is a stone. The absurdity is like people who sell junk, knowing that they are junk, yet, it has a value of some sort. Usually not in a currency sense. So, his stone selling business is non-existent, yet he works hard daily by being there and selling his stones, that no one buys. In a sense, he's commenting on his role in life, which is existence on a very absurd term. There's no humor (at least for this Westerner) here, but Tsuge's work is very much like the films of Robert Bresson. There's a purity of his attempts to achieve his dream, which is basically to disappear.

Ryan Holmberg's introduction (as well as being the translator) is very informative. I don't know if Tsuge's life is 'exactly' like the way he portrays his main character, but still, it's a skillful method of being in the world of someone who has a hard time dealing with the culture around them. A remarkable manga.

[Autoclette · Rating 5 out of 5]

I am a big fan of the film "Nowhere Man", which is based on this masterpiece. To be able to get hold of a translation is a real treat.

(Naoto Takenaka's Muno no Hito / Nowhere Man (1991))

[Laurent De Maertelaer · Rating 5 out of 5]

Het ‘shishōsetsu’ of ‘ik-verhaal’ meesterwerk van de Japanse Robert Crumb eindelijk vertaald. In 6 hoofdstukken tekent Tsuge (de oudere broer overigens van gekiga-auteur Tagao, zie ‘Slum Wolf’ en ‘Trash market’) een bijzonder aangrijpend beeld van een nietsnut op middelbare leeftijd die in zijn uiterste talentloosheid probeert te overleven en zich wanhopig vasthoudt aan zijn vindingrijkheid, zijn mededogen voor andere sukkelaars en zijn aandoenlijke verbeelding. Grafisch superieur, oprecht verteld en van een hoog literair gehalte. Lezen!

[Rod Brown · Rating 2 out of 5]

Fictionalized autobiographical stories revolving around pathetic middle-aged men and the wives who hate them for being such losers. Apparently this sort of navel gazing is its own genre in Japan -- called I-novel or shishosetsu -- and this is the seminal work of one of its most lauded creators.

It might appeal to fans of Chris Ware or Robert Crumb, I suppose, but not to me.

My tags: graphic novels, fiction, manga, semi-autobiographical, stones, rocks, poverty, laziness, artists, business plans, self-employed people, rivers, birds, collectors, mangaka, comic book writers, comic book artists, flea markets, junk dealers, antiques, antique dealers, cameras, bookstores, poets, haikus, 1970s, 1980s, 1850s, 1860s, 1880s, I-novels, shishosetsu

[Donatella Principi · Rating 4 out of 5]

Recensione su Chibiistheway
L’uomo senza talento è uno di quei fumetti da leggere prima o poi nella propria vita. Protagonista della storia è un uomo senza particolari capacità che lascia il suo lavoro da mangaka per inseguire dei sogni che hanno come obiettivo il guadagno facile. Passa dalla riparazione di macchine fotografiche vintage alla vendita di pietre raccolte lungo il fiume. Alla storia di Sukegawa si mescola quella dello stesso autore: malinconico, isolato e in conflitto con la società. Il fumetto parla di quelle persone senza un ruolo considerate inutili e quindi emarginate. Nonostante L’uomo senza talento sia stato scritto nel 1986, la storia parla anche del mondo d’oggi e di come le persone debbano trovare un’occupazione e contribuire al benessere generale se non vogliono essere bistrattate e dimenticate.

[Robert Boyd · Rating 5 out of 5]

Back in 1985, Yoshiharu Tsuge's "Red Flowers" was published in RAW number 7. It was for many art comics readers our first encounter with the work of this genius. RAW published another Tsuge story in 1990. I have been waiting over 30 years for a book of Tsuge's work to appear in English. When the flood of translated manga started being published in English in the 90s, I felt certain someone would step up. But for some reason, Tsuge was reluctant to allow it. (The story of that reluctance would be worth knowing. I had heard that he had given up comics to spend his life fishing, but reading Ryan Holmberg's essay in this volume suggest a psychological reason.) In any case, he stopped drawing comics in 1987 and withdrew from public life until he drew this book in 1998. It may have felt a bit like Marcel Duchamp withdrawing from art making to play chess, only to return with one final work, Étant donnés: 1° la chute d'eau / 2° le gaz d'éclairage (1966). Tsuge returned with this book in 1998. But while Duchamp was officially involved with chess, Tsuge's withdrawal seems to have been fueled by depression.

This book is a first person novel that is quite autobiographical, although the primary activity of the main character, Sukezō Sukegawa, is selling stones, something that Tsuge apparently never did. Even though Sukezō had worked as a comics artist, for some reason he has given that up. He and his wife and son live a precarious existence of abject poverty as Sukezō comes up with various improbable schemes to support his family. He briefly has a little success buying and repairing old cameras he finds at flea markets (something Tsuge did), but when the fad for buying old cameras fades, so does this source of income. In the meantime, he encounters a variety of equally pathetic entrepreneurs scrapping together existences on the margins of one of the richest capitalist economies on Earth. He meets a bookstall owner, Yamai, who is like himself. He strives to vanish from society by being useless and invisible. He gives Sukezō a book of haiku by a 19th century poet Seigetsu Inoue, who appears to have been a real person. In reading about Seigetsu, Sukezō seems to have found an earlier avatar of people like himself and Yamai. Perhaps that is Tsuge's intent--to describe a class of people who by their very nature choose to become invisible, to fade out and vanish. Apparently Tsuge has done this frequently throughout his life. Though the book doesn't say overtly that this a result of mental illness, a reader could conclude it. The Man Without Talent is a profoundly sad book, but there is a kind of embedded hopefulness in it. Tsuge did, after all, write and draw it. He could have just vanished instead.

[Lauren · Rating 4 out of 5]

Down-on-his-luck, sad-sack, "talentless".
Sukezo tries, but can't seem to get any headway in various hustles. We meet him at a roadside kiosk selling rocks from the river... the river that is right behind his kiosk. We meet other characters like Sukezo, and they commiserate about their lack of money, their annoying wives (unfortunately all of them are portrayed this way), and sharing their get-rich-quick schemes. Moods shift from existential to funny, poetic to eerie. It's an interesting journey through each page.

Tsuge's manga would be called autofiction now; small changes to his own story of a struggling mangaka trying to keep his family afloat. From translator Ryan Holmberg's supplemental essay at the end of this edition, we learn more about this disenfranchised/deadbeat character developed in 1970s/80s Japan and the historical context of the manga style that Tsuge pioneered: "I-novel" or shishosetsu comics.

I was drawn to this one as I've read (and adored) his teacher's work, Mizuki's Showa 1926-1939: A History of Japan 4-part history, and also enjoyed his brother's post-war crime noir, Tadao Tsuge's Slum Wolf.

[Keen Reader · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a clever and thought provoking little story about middle age men and identity and what can happen when they don’t choose to take the more traditional roles assumed by the likes of the salarymen.

The art work is really well done and this was a thoroughly enjoyable little book which had some really nice moments in the mix. The essay at the end also adds another layer of intrigue, showing how often the stories of authors can often be even more intriguing than the stories they write.

[Vendedor de rápida · Rating 4 out of 5]

Uno de los grandes clásicos del manga. Una introspección personal y uno de los retratos más crudos de la dedicación a la creación artística y al análisis de sus límites y sus posibilidades. El hombre sin talento es una gran paradoja porque demuestra el talento inmenso de un autor que no renuncia a retratar sus oscuridades.

[Juan Jiménez García · Rating 5 out of 5]

Yoshiharu Tsuge. La creación y la nada

Es complicado separar la vida de Yoshiharu Tsuge de la del hombre sin talento que protagoniza su manga del mismo nombre que ahora, felizmente, edita Gallo Nero. Es difícil porque Tsuge dejó pistas aquí y allá para que se le relacionara convenientemente, y también porque por encima de la historia está el tono, ese color triste, ese negro sobre blanco que deja todas las cosas al aire. El dibujante no llevó una vida fácil y acabó por retirarse poco después de su aparición como libro. Los ochenta llegaban a  su final y con ellos, por voluntad propia, su carrera. Lo abandonó todo y desapareció. Hasta nuestros días.

El hombre sin talento es la historia de un dibujante manga que no confía demasiado en su trabajo. En realidad, nada. Piensa que ya no tiene nada que decir en un mundo que está hablando de otras cosas. Y también que nadie está interesado en él. Eso le lleva a intentar otros caminos, cada vez más utópicos, más desconectados de su tiempo, convertido este en una mera abstracción. Reparar cámaras fotográficas y venderlas, pensar en montar una tienda de antigüedades en su propia casa, finalmente vender piedras de río. Sus días como vendedor de piedras transcurren junto al lecho, escondido en una tienda precariamente montada. Nadie le compra nada. ¿Quién puede querer comprar lo que está al alcance de la mano un poco más allá? Por mucho que él piense que en la elección de esas piedras y no otras hay un componente artístico, la gente no quiere saber nada. Ni tan siquiera los coleccionistas de piedras: las suyas provienen de un lugar sin valor.

Su mujer sigue esperando algo de él, sumida en la desesperación. Sigue esperando que vuelva a sus mangas al menos, que abandone esos sueños construidos sobre la nada, sobre el vacio. Su hijo acude a buscarlo tras cada episodio, tras cada fragmento de existencia perdido. Pero él ya no pertenece a ese mundo que le rodea insistentemente, sino a un mundo hecho de sueños. No es un hombre sin talento, sino un hombre que se niega. No es un hombre que se niega, sino un hombre permanentemente insatisfecho e instalado en esa insatisfacción.

En el germen de toda creación se encuentra ese sentimiento de insatisfacción. Uno crea porque necesita superar ese estado, ese enfrentamiento con el mundo. Uno crea para destruir algo: un miedo, un sentimiento, una asfixia, una vida. Uno crea para construir algo: una esperanza, un sentimiento, coger aire, una vida. La obra de Yoshiharo Tsuge se adentra dulcemente en esas razones, sin estar exenta de rabia, porque la rabia y la impotencia entre lo que queremos y lo que hay, forman parte de ese proceso. Su protagonista ha renunciado a la acción, ha renunciado a la búsqueda para entregarse a un proceso de disolución, del que pretende salir chapoteando torpemente en un río que le arrastra.

Aunque tal vez entienda, en algún momento de lucidez, que necesita atravesar esa niebla que le rodea, toda ese silencio que le rodea, esa paz que le atenaza, todo aquello que le parece justo pero que no le permitirá ir más allá. Ese negocio de piedras, en el que no hay que invertir nada, es también esa falta de riesgo. Sin riesgo no hay creación. Sin riesgo no hay nada auténticamente nuevo. Sin riesgo, Tsuge no hubiera creado jamás su propia obra, y negándose a asumirlo, su personaje no podrá escapar jamás de su jaula de piedras de río, de toda esa pesada inacción.

El hombre sin talento esconde una profunda reflexión sobre el acto de crear, sobre el autor, sobre el artista. Yoshiharu Tsuge escondió entre sus páginas, entre esas vidas a la deriva con tontos destellos de esperanza, un abrumador viaje seguramente al fondo de sus temores. Tras él había llegado a un punto de inflexión y tal vez estaría bien preguntarse por las respuestas que de él salieron. Pero se retiró. Y quizás esa fuera su respuesta. Eligió las piedras. Esto es: la nada.

Escrito para Détour.

[Laura (ローラ) · Rating 5 out of 5]

The story was more relatable, and the art more beautiful than I expected.

[Pierre Kilmister · Rating 4 out of 5]

Me ha enganchado de primeras, me encanta el estilo de manga clásico que tiene, y esas partes de humor que tiene basándose un poco en las vivencias del autor. Es un tanto escatológica y eso ya no me gusta tanto, pero por lo demás muy recomendable.

[Ken-ichi · Rating 3 out of 5]

I admit, I bought this for the cover, which could easily be me with shorter hair and a mustache. I know nothing about Tsuge or his reputation aside from what I gleaned from the essay at the end. Without that, it would be easy to write this off as yet another autobiographical comic about a mostly-worthless dude obsessing over his own worthlessness, crushed dreams, and sexual obsessions, but there is a little more here. For one thing, we're seeing a portrait of poverty in Japan, and not like salt-of-the-earth rural poverty, but urban poverty, people who have crashed out of the middle class, seem disconnected from any kind of family support, and seem to survive on a small trickle of luck. It's not a Japan that I've seen in much manga, though my exposure to manga is certainly lacking breadth.

For another, Sukegawa (Tsuge's stand-in protagonist) lives with his wife and child, and while they are not favorably depicted, they are also not elided, nor are they footnotes. They aggravate him, but they're also a part of how Sukegawa sees himself, ever-present, tightly bound to his guilt. Women characters are not quite equitably portrayed here, but their justifiable anger is present, at least.

Also, aside from the first chapter, most of the book explores other characters in the village, from the other rock peddlers (who seem, if anything, even more eccentric than Sukegawa), to flea market junk dealers, to bird trappers both mercantile and mythological. While clearly motivated by the kind of egomania that drives anyone to autobiography, it's far from his only drive (thankfully), and these portraits are fun, sometimes pointed, and, especially in the case of his wife, complicated.

It's also hard not to think of Jenny O'Dell's How To Do Nothing and the iceberg of thought that sits atop. While Sukegawa isn't specifically escaping capitalism, he does seem to deliberately opt out of extrinsic notions of value. Even though he's constantly hustling for the most obvious form of extrinsic value (money) his absurd failures to earn any derive from his complete, perhaps willful ignorance of what other people want to buy. He seems exasperated that people don't share his internal obsessions (rocks, old cameras, poets who care for nothing but hard drinking and hot springs), at least not to the point of shelling out a few yen.

The art was a shock after reading that Toppi collection. Tsuge's style is loose, sometimes bordering on sloppy, but totally different than most other manga artists. Many of his landscapes show the kind of detailed draftsmanship that so often sets Japanese comics apart from American ones, but they're few and far between. I want to say his style reminds me more of American indies, but I'm struggling to think of which ones specifically. My partner just suggested Tomine, but Tsuge's WAY less spare than that. Something to think about.

I would gladly read more. Despite the lack of published translations, it looks like the Internet has significantly more, including this collection by someone named Sonny Liew.

[Stefan Garland · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5

Crtice iz života jedne lenštine koja traći svoje vreme i talenat jesu efektne, ali sve u sebi nose istu poruku, te je nekako sve od početka očigledno. Takođe bih voleo da je došlo do nekog razrešenja odnosa između likova na kraju, iako razumem zašto se autor opredelio za drugačiji pristup.

[fonz · Rating 3 out of 5]

Tsuge narra su fracaso vital y el progresivo deslizamiento hacia la depresión de forma gráficamente sutil y hermosa pero algo elusiva. Irónicamente, Tsuge se niega a volver a trabajar en lo único para lo que tiene talento, el manga, embarcándose en absurdos negocios con los que hacer dinero rápido con el mínimo esfuerzo para desesperación de su sufrida esposa, manteniendo a su familia en la miseria y sumiéndose él mismo en una espiral descendente de humillación íntima y pérdida de autoestima (en Japón un hombre que no es capaz de mantener a su familia es así como lo puto peor) que le conducirá sin remedio a la depresión, a desear existir sin existir, a suicidarse y seguir viviendo, a dormitar apartado de una sociedad, la del boom hipercapitalista y turboconsumista de los 80 en Japón, cuya incomprensión con Tsuge es mutua.

Pero, ¿por qué se niega Tsuge, un autor de innegable talento, a seguir dibujando? Es la cuestión que más me intrigaba del tebeo pero que queda en el aire y si es respondida se hace de forma un poco tópica; el manga no es arte, es un mundo mezquino, "industrial", donde el esfuerzo y la presión es enorme y no compensa; Tsuge no es precisamente popular, su manga "de autor" no da demasiado dinero. Además el Japón moderno ya no entiende la sutileza, la tradición, sólo busca emociones fuertes, ruido, velocidad... No sé, esperaba una reflexión más profunda sobre la creación artística, más allá del "mal gusto del público y la industria", reflexiones íntimas sobre el miedo al agotamiento de la fuente creativa, la inseguridad, el artista siempre a merced un público sobre el que no se tiene ningún control, incluso la "pereza existencial" presente a lo largo de la historia... Y hay otra reflexión de fondo quizá excesivamente sutil para el no japonés, hilada por la figura de la grulla del cazador de pájaros y el haiku sobre esa grulla perdida en la niebla que aparece en la historia del poeta que cierra el libro, pero aún siendo metáforas hermosas son tan esquivas que yo, sinceramente, no he entendido su propósito.

[disco · Rating 5 out of 5]

An origin story that is completely unique. Yoshiharu Tsuge's life seems stagnant and at times without purpose, which is exactly what he would tell you if you asked.

[Bill Hsu · Rating 3 out of 5]

This has more of a pseudo-autobiographical slant (the intro warns against a straightforward autobiographical reading), and less of the fantastic subtleties and narrative twists of The Swamp. But the quiet melancholy is attractive, and Tsuge's art is often breathtaking. While pursuits like art stones and Japanese native songbirding are a bit too precious for my inclinations (and apparently for much of modern Japan), I do appreciate (and can relate to) the dogged stubbornness of the characters in their pursuits.

[Alex Fyffe · Rating 5 out of 5]

The Man Without Talent follows Sukezo, a burned-out manga artist in pursuit of a simple life, struggling to support his wife and young son, always depicted with torn clothes and dirt on their faces, by trying to sell his collection of stones by the river. He had previously found some success fixing broken cameras and selling them for profit, but when that well runs dry, he becomes obsessed with the lost art of finding water stones that have been shaped by nature into small landscapes or figures. But his failure to provide for his family earns him his wife's contempt and kindles his self-loathing.

He finds solace in spending time with other "useless" men -- a failed birdseller, bookseller, antiques dealer -- and sharing stories and ideas with these fellow failures. From the bookseller, he learns about an obscure haiku poet who managed to mostly vanish from the world, leaving behind only small fragments of his existence. The birdseller talks about a bird whisperer who looked like a bird from a distance and who, he claims, flew away one day. His wife immediately tries to deflate the narrative -- the bird whisperer jumped to his own death -- but the men shrug this off; to them, this man was a legend, someone who escaped the grind.

These men are more at home in dreams than in waking life, unable and/or unwilling to do what it takes to find financial stability. Sukezo, a critically-acclaimed manga artist, is capable of earning more money, something his wife urges him again and again to do, but even when offered a job, he immediately declines, denouncing manga as "unimportant." He would rather spend all day with his hand-picked stones, lying by the river where he found them, as though trying to become a stone himself, a thing that exists without effort, without expectation, without purpose. Like a bird whisperer trying to fly, like a poet wandering without a home, like anyone who doesn't know how to be human, Sukezo just wants to be free.

Unlike the wandering poet or the homeless bird-man, though, Sukezo is kept grounded by his family. Sure, they argue, they make each other mad, they hurt each other. And yet, they depend on each other. It is Sukezo's son who constantly keeps him from wandering off too far, there at the end of several chapters to call him home just when he is about to make a mistake. And it is his wife who reminds him that she is not to blame for who he has become. She won't let him get away with easy answers. And even in her disappointment with his choices, she is still there, a tether to humanity.

It is wonderful to finally see Yoshiharu Tsuge's work printed in English, and the translation and accompanying essay by Ryan Holmberg effectively captures the artist as a middle-aged man. My only complaints are superficial -- NYRC's neon cover design does not match the contents and gives this excellent book a gaudy appearance. In addition, the title Munou no hito translates more literally as An Incompetent Man, a title that rolls off the tongue better than The Man Without Talent, a translation that only partially hits the mark. Despite these odd choices, the work itself remains transcendent, a masterpiece of the floating world, and I hope it opens the door for more of this artist's work to find an English-speaking audience.

[Rodolfo Santullo · Rating 5 out of 5]

Empecemos por lo primordial: este es un libro difícil. No porque sea difícil de entender o de seguir -de hecho es todo lo contrario dado que la narrativa de Tsuge es maravillosamente clara, diáfana, efectiva y simple- sino por su durísimo contenido. "El Hombre sin Talento" no es otro más que Sukezo Sukegawa, un dibujante de manga sin éxito que se improvisará vendedor de pierdras (las que recoge en el río ubicado exactamente junto a su puesto de venta), alter ego del propio Tsuge y en el que reconstruye con brutalidad y frialdad clínica su propio estado de depresión, desamparo y vacío. Porque cuando repasamos la biografía de Tsuge nos encontramos con que todo lo que aquí narra -su abandono del manga, sus años y años por trabajos inútiles (las piedras el principal, pero también la compra/venta y refacción de cámaras fotográficas antiguas y los intentos vanos por poner su propia tienda de antiguedades), sus estados de depresión intermitentes- es un fiel reflejo de su propio camino, de su sufrir en este valle de lágrimas que se le antoja la propia vida. Recorrer un libro tan potente, que afecta tan directamente la sensibilidad del lector, no es entonces cosa sencilla -pienso lo mucho que me deprimió "Magia Blanca" de Simon Hanselmann hace apenas un año- pero aquí es donde aparece la razón principal para la lectura de este libro: Tsuge es un inmenso historietista. Aunque asistimos al lento descenso a los infiernos de Sukezo y pocos momentos de redención nos serán dados -prácticamente no hay respiro: un viaje de vacaciones se transforma en un particular via cruxis; cada encuentro con secundarios son sólo otra manera horrible de ver pasar los días con total indiferencia- Tsugo desnuda de tal manera su alma, lo cuenta con tal belleza visual y narrativa, que no cabe sino caer rendido ante la contundencia de su talento. La frustración del protagonista se torna la nuestra, el vacío existencial en el que se arrastra se comprende, el enojo y desespero que provoca en su entorno (especialmente en su esposa) se comparte, es decir, Tsuge logra transmitir con lujo de detalles donde se para su protagonista y donde se para él como artista. Incluso, hay un alto nivel de autocrítica dado el sarcasmo con el que se presenta a sí mismo y su constante persecución de trabajos improbables en vez de concentrarse en lo único que probablemente le salga bien (que es dibujar). "El Hombre sin Talento" fue el penúltimo libro editado por Yoshiharu Tsuge, y lo editó en el ya lejano 1985. Luego publicó "Betsuri" en 1987 y efectivamente cumplió las tantas amenazas de su contrapartida Sukezo Sukegawa, ya que no volvió a publicar nada hasta el día de hoy. Y uno, ante este maravilloso "El hombre sin talento" -que contiene tantas y tan estupendas historias (si vamos a destacar una sola, me quedo con 'Esfumarse' que oficia de cierre del libro todo pero además incluye a modo de reflejo del protagonista la historia del olvidado poeta Seigetsu y que es en sí misma una perfecta obra maestra)- sólo puede lamentarlo.

[Cbx · Rating 1 out of 5]

This is a story about a man who used to draw comics and support his family, who then stops doing that. Instead, he muses on various get-rich-quick schemes, some with a chance of success, some not. All the while, his wife begs him to draw comics again, to reach out to his contacts in the publishing industry even if they're not reaching out to him. His son repeatedly has to find him where he is whiling away his time, and tell him to come home.
I found this to be a depressing read. The man is depressed, and the way he treats his family is depressing. His wife is only depicted from the back, and has no face for the first sections. She is primarily depicted as griping at him, and as for her appearance, in one story he states "that was when my wife was still cute". His son has asthma attacks that are ignored, and is distressed by the poor relationship his parents have. As for how the man himself is drawn, he is an attractive character surrounded by caricatures. Although his family and some passersby get to look reasonably realistic, most of the people he interacts with do not.
I am glad there was an essay in this book to tell me this was a particular style of semi-realistic autobiography that marked a change in the japanese comics industry, and not just depression and misogyny. It still made me wonder why there is so much worship for this author and this book, which read like a whole lot of bleak nothingness to me. The essay also said the author's wife had written a diary of their time together, and as I read that, I wondered why we do not get a translation of that labelled with all the superlative praise this gets.

[Pablo Mallorquí · Rating 4 out of 5]

Qué maravilla leer un manga y que al acabarlo te deje reflexionando tanto sobre la existencia humana, el vivir en sociedad y qué es el éxito en las sociedades capitalistas. Todo esto consigue El hombre sin talento y lo hace sin moralejas maniqueas i sin tratar con condescendencia al lector.

Tsuge nos narra el periplo vital de Sukezo y cómo sus objetivos vitales se verán confrontados y reprimidos por dos instituciones claves de la sociedad contemporánea: la familia y el trabajo. Y a lo largo de este periplo asistimos a una disección brillante de la sociedad a la vez que empatizamos con el protagonista. El hombre sin talento es una obra importante dentro del cómic japonés, y aunque he echado en falta un poco más de "emoción", los temas que trata hacen de este clásico una lectura fascinante y plenamente vigente.

[Peter Landau · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is the first transition of one of manga’s critically acclaimed artists. A friend said a couple stories were published in Raw years ago, but this is my first encounter with Yoshiharu Tsuge’s work. It’s beautiful drawn and depressing as hell, but not without a touch of poetry to keep it from falling into maudlin.

[Met · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ritratto triste di una società - non solo quella giapponese - che vuole a tutti i costi che ognuno di noi sia utile. Il tratto di Tsuge non mi piace molto, ma non è un ostacolo: L’uomo senza talento è una storia chiave della narrativa manga che si legge con amarezza ma anche con profondo interesse.

[Ignacio · Rating 5 out of 5]

Una historia de naufragio vital donde los sueños y la esperanza de un artista chocan con la miseria cotidiana de la crisis económica y personal. Sencillamente soberbio.

[Ksenija · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5

[Iva · Rating 5 out of 5]

“Kot da smo ločeni od preostalega sveta… čisto sami trije v tem širnem vesolju.”

Sansuke ❤️‍🩹

[Moira Macfarlane · Rating 4 out of 5]

Literatuur binnen het genre manga, prachtige stijl 👌🏻

En dat essay aan het einde van het boek was echt top, heel verhelderend over Tsuge zelf, maar ook het genre, de tijdgeest en Japan.

Quote van Yoshiharu Tsuge (1937, Japan) uit het essay

'"I came to enjoy [my stories] being read as fact or close to fact, and the protagonist being imagined as the artist myself. I thought perhaps I could use the style of shishōsetsu to confuse fact and fiction, mislead people about what the artist is like, and thereby hide my true identity. Using self-concealment as a means of self-expression myself and have always preferred to hide. There is only one way to really do that, however, and that is to stop drawing altogether"—which is exactly what he did in 1987.'

Voor een inkijkje https://www.instagram.com/p/CNg7EjCrjYQ/

[Alex · Rating 4 out of 5]

A hypnotic blend of bleak humor and stark semi-autobiography. I liked how each of the six sections were tangentially-related, but each one could be read as their own individual work. There are some moments early on when the humor is depressingly accurate for indie comic-artists. I'm sure many folks in the indie scene will revel in its depictions of trying to make a life off of creative endeavors. The narrator is a pretty grim and unlikable misogynist, but whether it's his gumption or introspection, he manages to convey his strife in a way that kept me reading and engaged.

[Wendelle]

a landmark graphic novel memoir that doesn't shy away from exposing the harshness of the artist's life as he attempts to make a living. In this book, a manga artist tries various entrepreneurial schemes at the limits of his desperation-- selling rocks, selling birds, selling clocks and odds and ends-- as he tries to preserve his artistic integrity, and encounters others trying to do the same thing, preserving Japanese traditional ways of life while the influx of Western culture becomes more popular.