
Igort’s offbeat graphic memoir feels haphazard in its arrangement, but as “notebooks” of reminiscences of his years in Tokyo, and reflections on the artists, aesthetics and customs that stirred him as a mangaka in his early 30s, this works well as a surreal series of digressive flashbacks and associations. I really enjoyed the bits about his life in the Sendagi neighborhood of Bunkyo-ku, Tokyo, in the 90s, since I was living just south of him in Bunkyo’s Sengoku area, where small printing factories used to churn out manga and all kinds of other material. I like the quirkiness of this book too, and it gave me plenty to ponder.