By Kirin Xin — 'Oh your comics are art, someone says. That goes to your head, and then no one wants to hire you.'

A self-rhetoric known to any professional artist. A fine balance between degradation and grounding truth.

'Nevertheless… I continue to rack my brain.'

And with these words, a silver line is drawn between the innately stubborn impulse to keep creating, and the lividity of a hobby that has become one’s single most defining feature and lifeblood. That silver line ties itself into a neat bow within the pages of Yoshiharu Tsuge’s The Man Without Talent.

Originally serialized in Comic Baku in 1985-1986, The Man Without Talent follows the semi-autobiographical account of Yoshiharu Tsuge’s attempts to jilt creative disparity and remove himself from society. After quitting his career as a comic artist, the protagonist of the comic turns his focus not to retirement, but to another career: selling rocks out of the Tamagawa River in Chōfu, (which is about as glamorous as it sounds.) As a result, he navigates the everyday struggles of a poverty and lackadaisy-stricken man, from a creeping malaise to growing resentment from family and himself.

The novel opens on Tsuge in the throes of his new job.

‘Alas, I have been reduced to selling stones. I had no better ideas.’

And those two lines set the tone for the rest of the book, already dripping with capitulation.

Most anyone working in a field or on a craft has done the same before: When things aren’t working out, fantasizing about giving it all up for something menial instead. But unlike Tsuge, they usually realize that would cost too much money, or at least completely destroy the flow of it, and so continue to struggle. In the comic, Tsuge struggles too, but through the whims and lazy labors of his new normal. It creates a story that may initially come across as banal, with its indelicate and sometimes vulgar abandonment of excitement in favor of everyday happenings and disappointments, but quickly reveals itself as eerily relatable in its most base, unglamorous truths about being an artist.

Much of the plot, or lack thereof, in The Man Without Talent, revolves around industry parallel struggles. Trying to make money with no capital investment. Pondering how money affects creative struggle. Finding out about a trend too late, and trying to capitalize on it just leading to emptiness. Receiving a call for work and getting excited, only to realize the association is almost as bad off as you and has little reach. Comforting someone in the industry when you need comfort yourself. Judging others while making excuses to remain listless. And that’s just within the first half of the book.

The whole thing feels like an allegory of the art and career world told through rocks. As the similarities seep in, the reader may find themself reflected by Tsuge. Even when the story allows them to scrutinize him from the outside for his pouting and laziness, he quickly moves the point of examination to look through a lens of burnout and depression, something most people can relate to at one time or another in their career or hobby. It leaves them wanting to feel sorry for him, but too involved to make a solid judgement, and completely understanding when he expresses his desire to simply disappear.

Despite having not drawn a comic since the 1980s, Yoshiharu Tsuge’s canonism in the world of cult manga leaves little debate about his skill as a storyteller. With the English translation of The Man Without Talent, arguably his most popular work, finally available and accompanied by translator Ryan Holmberg’s decisive essay on Tsuge’s talents, the bare depressing but relatable tale of the stone seller is sure to guide readers through the worlds of suiseki, (the art of appreciation of single stones,) bonseki, (the art of appreciation of multiple rocks,) and jōhatsu, (the act of disappearing.) Part stylized cautionary tale, part exploration into the mind of a lost soul, it will leave readers examining their own passions and place in life. Because after all, 'Some locales offer nothing at all.'

The Man Without Talent Review

THE MAN WITHOUT TALENT
Writer/Artist: Yoshiharu Tsuge, translated from the Japanese and with an essay by Ryan Holmberg
Publisher: New York Review Comics
Price: $22.95
Yoshiharu Tsuge is one of the most celebrated and influential comics artists, but his work has been almost entirely unavailable to English-speaking audiences. The Man Without Talent, his first book to be translated into English, is an unforgiving self-portrait of frustration. Swearing off cartooning as a profession, Tsuge takes on a series of unconventional jobs—used-camera salesman, ferryman, stone collector—hoping to find success among the hucksters, speculators, and deadbeats he does business with. Instead, he fails again and again, unable to provide for his family, earning only their contempt and his own. The result is a dryly funny look at the pitfalls of the creative life, and an off-kilter portrait of modern Japan. Accompanied by an essay from the translator Ryan Holmberg which discusses Tsuge’s importance in comics and Japanese literature, The Man Without Talent is one of the great works of comics literature.
Release Date: January 28, 2020

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Kirin Xin is a graphic designer, band freak, and comics writer and illustrator working out of the Midwest. They could have been prom king but devoted their life to making comic books. They can be found at kirixin.com or on social media @kirixin