2026 read #44: The Adventures of Tom Bombadil by J. R. R. Tolkien.

The Adventures of Tom Bombadil and other Verses from the Red Book by J. R. R. Tolkien

Illustrated by Pauline Baynes

Editorial material by Christina Scull & Wayne G. Hammond

290 pages

Published 1962; expanded version with commentary published 2014

Read from August 25 to August 27

Rating: 3.5 out of 5

After reading The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, and The Silmarilion, this is my first foray into the dregs of Middle-earth material, the real cash-in type shit that fills whole shelves of the fantasy section to this day. The third and final Middle-earth book published in Tolkien’s lifetime, Adventures scrapes together the titular poem (originally published in 1934), some poems pulled from Lord of the Rings, and some more or less random material the Professor had lying around. This edition bundles the rather slim text with a much longer body of commentary to make it seem like a real book worth buying.

Tolkien studies are a big and profitable line — perhaps less so now than in their 1970s-2000s heyday, but they still drain so much oxygen from the contemporary fantasy scene and its innovative but impoverished authors. I almost hate to admit that it’s kinda interesting to read the commentary, which traces the origins of texts and cross-references the legendarium. No way in hell I’ll ever be famous enough that anyone would give a shit about my notes and scraps of manuscripts, but it’s fascinating to see the creative process from the outside like this.

I also enjoyed the poems more than I expected to. The way Tolkien plays with rhythm and assonance is like a polished, Oxfordian elevation of my own poetic aspirations. Tolkien’s signature tone of whimsy underlain with deep sadness is one that would suit the collection I’m supposed to be working on. I’m honestly glad I purchased a copy so that I’m able to highlight and dog-ear it (should I ever bring myself to do that to a book).

2026 read #19: Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 14 by Kamome Shirahama.

Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 14 by Kamome Shirahama

Translated by Stephen Kohler

172 pages

Published 2025 (English translation published 2026)

Read from March 17 to March 18

Rating: 4 out of 5

Just like I said the last time I read an installment of Witch Hat Atelier, it’s been a hell of a bad ride since then. Only worse this time, what with World War III and everything.

This time, it’s been well over a year between volumes. As it should be, really—the manga industry enforces an exploitative and punishing schedule that degrades the quality of work in addition to burning out artists. I’m glad Shirahama has more time to craft her story, and her art, than the manga machine tends to permit. The line art and composition in Atelier remains exceptional and ambitious.

As a reader, though, it’s difficult to get back into the story after all this time away (and all the trauma we’ve had to live through these last fourteen months). A tertiary character’s heel turn lacks impact when I can’t remember who he is. The story doesn’t progress all that much, either. We get a ton of gorgeous, flowing art, but we end this volume basically where it began: attempting to defend the people of the city from the massive valence leech released I don’t know how many chapters ago.

Still, the art is absolutely wonderful. And we end on a lovely emotional beat between main character Coco and my personal favorite / self-insert, Agott. So I guess I’ll be generous with my grade, and I guess I’m still invested enough that I’ll wait however long for Volume 15.

2026 read #4: Wildwood by Colin Meloy.

Wildwood by Colin Meloy

Illustrated by Carson Ellis

544 pages

Published 2011

Read from January 10 to January 24

Rating: 3 out of 5

In the early years of this blog, I must have checked this book out of the library half a dozen times. I never did read it, though, put off by its ever-so-slightly-too-precious opening. After a while it slipped out of my mental must-read pile.

An odd pop culture conjunction brought it back to mind. In the Dropout comedy special Demi Adejuyigbe: Is Going to Do One (1) Backflip, there’s a bit where Adejuyigbe gets a staged phone call from a character who introduces himself: “It’s me! Colin Meloy! Lead singer of the Decemberists!” This bit became a vocal stim for my partner and me, a harmless bright spot during this dismal dystopian winter. It led to me getting back into the Decemberists, and it led to R purchasing and reading a copy of Wildwood. I’m reading it now on their recommendation.

First of all, it is really hard to read a heroic children’s adventure novel at a time when fascists openly wage civil war upon the decent folk of one’s country. I would read for a page or two, hit a wall of who cares about any of this right now, and go back to doomscrolling. Not a great mindset for a fair book review.

Secondly, either because of the book’s pacing or my own admittedly distracted reading, I felt it took a while for Wildwood to hit its stride. Again, maybe that’s my fault. I wanted it to be a “magic hidden in the heart of the city” urban fantasy, something along the lines of War for the Oaks or Wizard of the Pigeons, but from the pen that produced “The Mariner’s Revenge Song.” Instead, it’s a talking animal fable for precocious readers, with a pinch of Portlandia.

For a book called Wildwood, it has an unexpected amount of towns, gas lamps, mail trucks, and paddywagons. It isn’t until the halfway point that the setting comes into its own and begins to feel like a distinct addition to the atlas of fantastika: a charming melding of urban and bucolic, highwaymen and talking coyotes, ghostly bridges and rain forests. It’s in these details that Meloy’s storytelling genius shows through. That, and the indomitable power of people resisting evil overlords and secret police. Turns out there was a reason to care about this after all.

2026 read #2: A Horse Came Running by Meindert DeJong.*

A Horse Came Running by Meindert DeJong*

Illustrated by Paul Sagsoorian

147 pages

Published 1970

Read January 3

Rating: 2.5 out of 5

* Denotes a reread.

So far as I recall, this was the very first chapter book I ever read. It was in my older brother’s English textbook for 6th grade, the same textbook that introduced me to The War of the Worlds (via an account of the 1938 radio drama), and had chapters from Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH and Sweetwater, as well. The full text of A Horse Came Running was included at the end of the textbook, presumably for a capstone unit or something along those lines.

I ate it up as an 8 year old. I assumed it was set in Kentucky (which, as the old family home we returned to for summers in my youth, had been a major scene in my life), and the plot revolved around a tornado (one of my earliest fears and fixations). I’d never particularly been into horses, but I was a big-hearted child, and immediately loved the horses in the story. I felt very smart and accomplished, reading a book for 6th graders all on my own.

It took some time (and way too much money) to track down a copy on eBay. But it was nice to revisit it. It’s a solidly done children’s book, capturing the magical thinking and mental bargains that make up childhood thought. It creaks with age, unfortunately, emphasizing obedience as a virtue, and dropping some casual misogyny in a boy’s-life sort of way. There’s also a lot more “the young horse is now the wife of the old horse” chatter than I remembered. I think the textbook version wasn’t as complete as I always assumed; I didn’t recall the inevitable death of one of the horses, at any rate.

2025 read #94: Flower Fables by Louisa May Alcott.

Flower Fables by Louisa May Alcott 

Illustrator unknown

182 pages

Published 1854

Read from December 6 to December 8

Rating: 2 out of 5

It’s that time of the year again: time to cram antique kids books to pad out my reading numbers.

Aside from a Reader’s Digest Condensed Classics bastardization of Little Women, this is my first book by Lou Alcott. It’s a bundle of six fairy tales (plus some poems) Alcott wrote as a teenage tutor for young Ellen Emerson, daughter of Ralph Waldo Emerson. For those of us more used to the predatory nature of the little folk in old folklore and modern fantasy alike, Alcott’s fairies are disorienting in their sweetness. These are gentle fantasies of singing flowers, insect infirmaries, and magical dew drops. Even the mean Frost King melts under their ministrations.

Knowing what we know of Lou Alcott’s feelings of gender and sexuality, it’s interesting to examine the heavily gendered worldview developed in these early stories. The fairies are exemplars of girlish virtue, as it was conceptualized at the time. Purity, humility, industry, universal love, and dutiful care are emphasized over and over again, in direct opposition to pride, corruption, and willfulness. The only masculine main characters are cruel and selfish, like the Frost King and Thistledown (except, of course, the Father god, who is benign but remote). It’s up to women to repair the harm men cause, and to redeem their wayward souls for them. One might read between those lines.

Or it could just be what teenage Alcott felt was expected of stories for the young daughter of a Transcendentalist. It’s also uncomfortably close to the assumptions behind modern Evangelical gender constructs, even if, for Alcott, they may have been rooted in aversion.

Still, I’m glad I read Fables. It’s fascinating to see the way fairies were romanticized this early. I’m looking forward to reading Alcott’s more mature output, though.

2025 read #88: Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson.*

Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson*

190 pages

Published 1883

Read from November 18 to November 19

Rating: 2.5 out of 5 (maybe 3 with nostalgia)

* Denotes a reread.

I began the year hoping to shift my reading focus away from big numbers of books to books I’m enthusiastic about reading. That didn’t last long; I resumed padding my numbers with manga and novellas pretty much immediately. As we speed inexorably toward December, I’m officially at the fuck-it phase: I want to reach 100 books this year, and I’m happy to cram in anything I can to get there.

That said, I’ve idly wished to revisit this childhood staple for a while now. After the usual suspects, like War of the Worlds and Jurassic Park, this was one of my most frequent rereads as a tween. Whatever his other qualities, Stevenson was skilled at portraying the irrational fears and half-understood thoughts of childhood:

How [the man with one leg] haunted my dreams…. On stormy nights… I would see him in a thousand forms, and with a thousand diabolical expressions. Now the leg would be cut off at the knee, now at the hip; now he was a monstrous kind of creature who had never had but the one leg, and that in the middle of his body. To see him leap and run and pursue me over hedge and ditch was the worst of nightmares.

As that’s exactly how my own imagination operated, even in waking hours, I felt perceived in a way all too rare in my youth.

Nostalgia’s doing a lot of the heavy lifting here, but even as an adult, it’s an enjoyable read. It’s solidly constructed, briskly paced, and brims with iconic scenes and images. It is exactly the book it sets out to be. Certain aspects haven’t aged well, naturally. But it was a welcome visit back to childhood escapism.

2025 read #67: The Box-Car Children by Gertrude Chandler Warner.

The Box-Car Children by Gertrude Chandler Warner

Illustrated by Dorothy Lake Gregory

146 pages

Published 1924

Read September 17

Rating: 2.5 out of 5

One of the great contemporary British nature writers, probably Roger Deakin (though it might have been Robert Macfarlane), first piqued my interest about this series. It sounds right up my alley: Abruptly orphaned, refusing to be sent to their grandfather, four young siblings learn to subsist on their own, avoiding the clutches of meddlesome adults. For shelter, they luck into an old boxcar on an abandoned logging spur in the woods.

Children’s literature of this era lacks depth. The characters are little more than outlines, the plot only a series of incidents culminating, inevitably, in a fortune. But I grew up on fantasies of Mississippi River islands and running away on a raft, so the concept is immensely appealing. And small but skillful touches of natural beauty (not to mention the comforting descriptions of food) add to its appeal. I would have loved the hell out of this book had I read it when I was 8.

2025 read #32: Lioness Rampant by Tamora Pierce.

Lioness Rampant by Tamora Pierce

363 pages

Published 1988

Read from March 31 to April 11

Rating: 2.5 out of 5

After habitually taking three or more years between installments, I decided to switch it up and read the last volume of the Lioness Quartet immediately after I finished The Woman Who Rides Like a Man.

Perhaps I should have waited at least a little bit longer. This is the bulkiest book in the quartet, stuffed with a couple books’ worth of plotlines, the convenient return of more than one previously defeated enemy, and a lot of introducing one friend group to another friend group. Focused on my own writing this month, for the first time since 2022, I found I didn’t have much attention to spare, especially for the chapters away from Alanna. In particular, a forty page chapter cramming together all the political scheming that’s been happening in the capital in Alanna’s absence took me days to get through.

Rampant suffers, I think, from the need to give everyone and everything resolution. The result is an unevenly paced finale that’s less satisfying than it should have been.

2025 read #31: The Woman Who Rides Like a Man by Tamora Pierce.

The Woman Who Rides Like a Man by Tamora Pierce

269 pages

Published 1986

Read from March 29 to March 31

Rating: 3 out of 5

I read the first book in this series, appropriately enough titled Alanna: The First Adventure, in 2018. It wasn’t until three years later that I read the second, In the Hand of the Goddess. Somehow even more time has elapsed between reading the second and third book, which I’m only just now getting around to, almost three and a half years later. Truth be told, though, 2018 feels much farther from 2021 than 2021 does from now. Pandemic time has never made sense, and the pre-pandemic world feels like a different lifetime compared to the eternal present of the 2020s.

More so than when I read the first two books, something clicked with this series; I think I finally get it now. It is, quite simply and gloriously, wish fulfillment for 1980s horsegirls. Alanna is a badass young knight with violet eyes, a magic cat, a sword named Lightning, and a horse named Moonlight. This installment features a series of incidents rather than a plot, but it works. As a hyperlexic child, I would have eaten it up.

Unfortunately, Woman has its share of 1980s yikes: noble desert tribes, a hook-nosed villain, white imperialism, a prophecy that the Northern King must rule the tribes to bring peace. There’s also a dubious age-gap relationship.

On the other side of that coin, the Overton window has shifted so sharply to the right over the last four decades that Pierce’s starter-kit feminism — Alanna has sex outside of marriage! Alanna uses magic birth control! Alanna seeks her own path in life! — would somehow be more controversial today than it was in 1986. If this were somehow published for the first time today, it would soon be banned in fifteen states, and not because of the age gap.

2025 read #18: The Road to Oz by L. Frank Baum.

The Road to Oz by L. Frank Baum

Illustrated by John R. Neill

159 pages

Published 1909

Read from February 12 to February 13

Rating: 2 out of 5

I figured I’d knock this one out real quick, since it’s the last Oz book included in my library’s omnibus volume. (Well, I guess it isn’t an omnibus if it’s only the first five books, but still.) My country is accelerating into fascism and I can’t spend all my time spiraling about it.

This time, Dorothy trustingly accompanies a drifter dubbed the shaggy man. They reach an enchanted crossroads, pick the seventh road, and inevitably bumble through a series of silly adventures in different parts of fairyland. Many of the lands and creatures this time around skew closer to Aesop than to Baum’s usual blend of rustic and clockwork aesthetics. Soon enough, though, Road reaches the typical Oz fare: checking in with every single companion from the previous four books, because that’s why we simply begged that Mama and Papa must get the new storybook! Also, Santa Claus shows up for a birthday party, because why not.

I have no idea if I’ll continue on with the next nine Oz books from Baum. These five have been a pleasant distraction, but aside from Ozma of Oz, and the ending of The Marvelous Land of Oz, they haven’t done much to distinguish themselves. I suppose if my library gets any of the later volumes, I might consider it.

2025 read #17: Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz by L. Frank Baum.

Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz by L. Frank Baum

Illustrated by John R. Neill

128 pages

Published 1908

Read February 12

Rating: 2 out of 5

Back at it again with the fourth Oz book. This time Dorothy falls into a vegetable kingdom deep inside the Earth, where she happens to meet the Wizard of Oz, out being a humbug as usual. Together with their new companions — Zeb the human boy, Jim the horse, and Eureka the kitten — they adventure through a series of subterranean realms.

It’s a step down from Ozma of Oz, at least to my modern adult tastes. The episodic bedtime story structure is back, sending our friends pell-mell through tunnels and caverns, meeting strange new folks, then moving on. When they happen to reach the Land of Oz, the narrative sputters away into a hangout sesh. But it wasn’t actively unpleasant or anything.

2025 read #15: Ozma of Oz by L. Frank Baum.

Ozma of Oz by L. Frank Baum

Illustrated by John R. Neill

153 pages

Published 1907

Read from February 9 to February 10

Rating: 2.5 out of 5

I liked this installment, which largely discards the “new adventure every chapter” storybook structure of the first two Oz tales in favor of a simpler but more cohesive storyline. Dorothy is back in “fairyland” after another weather-related mishap, this time in the company of a pugnacious hen named Bill and, eventually, our good friend Ozma. The quest to locate and restore the royal family of Ev isn’t as iconic as defeating a Wicked Witch or gender-bending into a princess, but for early 20th century kidlit, Ozma of Oz is solid.

2025 read #10: The Marvelous Land of Oz by L. Frank Baum.

The Marvelous Land of Oz by L. Frank Baum

Illustrated by John R. Neill 

145 pages

Published 1904

Read from January 28 to January 29

Rating: 2 out of 5

Perhaps because this second installment lacks the nostalgic familiarity of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, I didn’t appreciate it as much. Or perhaps it’s because it’s hard to find the joy in life when an illegitimate fascist government employs shock doctrine to demoralize and dismantle your country.

It’s hard to separate Wizard from its movie, so it’s difficult to say which book is better. For most of Land, Tip is a less engaging protagonist than (the movie version of) Dorothy. Pumpkinhead has a promising introduction, but the eventual adventuring crew of the Scarcrow, the Tin Man, the Saw-Horse, the Wobble-Bug, and so forth feels much less entertaining than (the movie version of) Wizard’s cast. Their scenes are full of bickering, and puns, and bickering over puns. For a depressed adult in the twenty-first century, it grows tiresome.

Without beloved cinematic plot beats to carry it, Land is a bit of a trudge to this modern reader, the frenetic bedtime story pace giving very little to latch onto. Even its proto-feminist message of “girls get to sit at the table too” gets lost in its “girls want jewelry and bon-bons” antics.

That said, the final gender-bent twist is delightful, especially for a book this old. It elevates my final opinion of Land quite a bit, and reassures me that the rest of the Oz books might be worth reading.

2025 read #5: Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 13 by Kamome Shirahama.

Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 13 by Kamome Shirahama

Translated by Stephen Kohler

180 pages

Published 2024 (English translation published 2025)

Read January 16

Rating: 4 out of 5

It’s been a hell of a bad ride since I finished the previous installment of Witch Hat Atelier back in September. Fuck.

It’s an adjustment to go from splurging through the series to being all caught up and having to wait months for the next translated tankōbon. The number of characters and tangle of plot lines in Atelier makes it especially difficult. I floundered at first to recall what was going on; when a new character (Richeh’s big brother) got introduced, I was confused, concerned that I’d completely forgotten someone important.

This is a solid installment, progressing the conflict between the principles of the Pointed Caps and their desire to help people. The way forward chosen by the characters — invent new spells! — seems a bit trite, but Shirahama’s artwork is stunning as always, whirling between characters and scenes with assurance and verve.

2025 read #3: The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum.*

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum*

Illustrated by W.W. Denslow 

122 pages

Published 1900

Read from January 6 to January 7

Rating: 2.5 out of 5

* Denotes a reread.

My partner R introduced me to the film version of Wicked the other night, a movie so enjoyable it rekindled my interest in the book version. I’m not sure I’ll ever follow up on that; I attempted to read Wicked back in 2014, got seventeen pages in, and gave up. It isn’t a good novel. Still, I might try again someday. And in either case, I thought it might be fun to revisit The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, perhaps even work my way into the later Baum books.

Having grown up on the 1939 musical, Wizard of Oz was a disappointment to my childhood self, who expected the same technicolor pageant in book form. The prose is weightless, as was so often the case with early chapter books. The story flits between wacky encounters and creatures at a bedtime story pace, and its ironies are about as subtle as a tornado. The Wicked Witch of the West, for instance, is Dorothy’s antagonist for just one chapter. In comparison, the movie is polished and tightly plotted. I can’t exactly criticize a book for doing exactly what was expected of it in its time, but that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it, personally.

I’d be curious to read a gloss of Oz that illuminated the turn of the century political satire underlying everything here. No publisher ever seems to bundle this book with commentary, sadly.

2025 read #1: Sleepy Princess in the Demon Castle: 1 by Kagiji Kumanomata.

Sleepy Princess in the Demon Castle: 1 by Kagiji Kumanomata

Translated by Tetsuichiro Miyaki

168 pages

Published 2016 (English translation published 2018)

Read from December 31, 2024 to January 1

Rating: 2.5 out of 5

In 2024, I read 157 books, the most I’ve ever read in one year as an adult. It was also the very first year I read at least ten books each calendar month. Many, possibly most, of the books I read were quick reads: manga, magazines, novellas, poetry collections. Some might sniff at that, but a record is a record, and who cares what others think? It’s not like anyone but plagiarism bots reads these reviews anyway.

Moving into 2025, I want to read more deliberately, instead of for big numbers. I want to read less overall, to free up time for writing. So naturally the first book of 2025 is… a volume of manga.

I learned about this series thanks to an ad in the back of a volume of Frieren. I’m always open to charming high fantasy manga, especially now that I’ve finished Delicious in Dungeon and I’m all caught up with Witch Hat Atelier. Sleepy Princess looked promising, an adorable tale of a kidnapped princess who, safe and bored inside a castle of monsters, goes to great lengths to get quality sleep. As a fellow princess-and-the-pea sleeper myself, I could relate. The manga pretty much delivers on that premise, and does so adequately. The way Princess Syalis hunts through the demon castle for her various bedding needs is pleasantly reminiscent of Delicious in Dungeon, if you replace food with sleep.

Unfortunately, at least in this initial volume, Princess lacks characterization, and the princess’s nocturnal side-quests quickly become repetitive. This slim tankōbon is packed with thirteen chapters, each of which is fairly self-contained. As a result, the story is episodic, and never develops much substance. I don’t think I’m intrigued enough to continue spending money on this series.

Also discouraging any investment: the binding error in this copy (most of chapters nine and ten are replaced with repeats of chapters four and five). Bad luck, or a shoddy press? I’m not shelling out more to find out.

2024 read #110: Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 12 by Kamome Shirahama.

Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 12 by Kamome Shirahama

Translated by Stephen Kohler

179 pages

Published 2023 (English translation published 2024)

Read September 11

Rating: 4.5 out of 5

This is it. I’m now caught up with the current English language tankōbon run of Witch Hat Atelier, with no more until January. Hard to believe I hadn’t even heard of this series when I googled for manga to sate my Delicious in Dungeon hunger this spring.

And what a stunning volume this is. After two fairly quiet, understated books, Shirahama unleashes magical violence in intricate panels, jaw-dropping splash pages, and adroit compositions. Action shots and moments of introspection are staged with equal finesse.

In the midst of the action, all the character development of the last two volumes amply pays off. Characters have climactic moments of trust, of doubt, of rising to the occasion. Tears sprang to my eyes more than once.

Witch Hat has dominated my summer the way few, if any, series ever have. I could have used these books when I was a kid, yet Shirahama is the rare author who pulls together a story just as compelling and comforting for adults as it is for younger readers. I’m sad to part from Atelier these next few months, but I’m so happy it’s become part of my life.

2024 read #109: Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 11 by Kamome Shirahama.

Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 11 by Kamome Shirahama

Translated by Stephen Kohler

158 pages

Published 2022 (English translation published 2023)

Read September 11

Rating: 4 out of 5

Creative block, and the pressures of deadlines, are significant themes in this volume. Which feels particularly apt this time around.

Much like Volume 10, this tankōbon largely feels like a plateau in between major plot movements, setting the pieces for what's to come. The Silver Eve procession is delightful, and this volume sees significant growth for Agott, the character I relate to the most. But, aside from a handful of flashy panels, and of course the gorgeous, monstrous menace of the cliffhanger sequence, the art and storytelling are muted, utilitarian. I assume Shirahama was pacing herself, saving her energies for more intricate pieces to come.

That's part of the manga business, or so I assume. I cannot imagine the pressures, the workload, the stress of deadlines involved in authoring an ongoing serial like this. I'd happily wait longer for volumes if it meant the artist is less stressed and has more time. But clearly, I'm not a capitalist.

2024 read #91: Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 10 by Kamome Shirahama.

Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 10 by Kamome Shirahama

Translated by Stephen Kohler

156 pages

Published 2022 (English translation published 2022)

Read August 9

Rating: 4 out of 5

We’ve reached the end of my self-allotted ration of Witch Hat for the month. In September, I’ll read volumes 11 and 12, and be all caught up with the translated books. Sad face.

After the emotional tension and thematic knots laid out so beautifully in Volume 9, this tankōbon feels a bit like a muddle, quick-cutting through storylines for all the girls (and Tartah and Custas too) while also introducing fresh complications in the form of King Deanreldy and his son Prince Eoleo.

It all feels important to Shirahama’s themes of power, its risks, and who decides who gets to wield it. It gives us the most visceral glimpse yet into why certain practices of magic have been banned in this world. But the storytelling felt a bit like a plateau after the breathless build of Volume 9.

Not that I didn’t like it, by any means. Shirahama continues to expertly weave tragedy and dread throughout the seemingly innocent fantasy. Certain other series about young people learning to be witches could never maintain this level of quality.

2024 read #90: Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 9 by Kamome Shirahama.

Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 9 by Kamome Shirahama

Translated by Stephen Kohler

174 pages

Published 2021 (English translation published 2022)

Read from August 5 to August 6

Rating: 4 (maybe 4.5) out of 5

If Shirahama’s artwork felt less ambitious in Volume 8, she more than makes up for it here. Right from the first sequence of Chapter 46, which transitions from a storybook of old legends into Coco and friends’ arrival in the city of Ezrest, and then visualizes the girls' explorations of the city as a board game, this tankōbon is full of clever, creative, and downright gorgeous uses of art to tell (and to augment) the story.

Also, the thematic table-setting in Volume 8 pays off here, as the conflict between helping people with magic, and keeping magic tightly guarded for fear of its abuse in the wrong hands, makes for an explosive emotional crisis. Shirahama does an excellent job at portraying what’s at stake, both for the hardline magic cops (and why they do what they do) as well as the ordinary people who have been deprived of magic by fiat, after horrors committed centuries before.

It’s damn fine storytelling, possibly my favorite tankōbon from this series so far.