The Fall 2022 Manga Guide

Last Gender: When We Are Nameless

What's It About? 

Welcome to "BAR California", a place where people with different genders, propensities, and sexual orientations gather to find a certain "something". A transgender bisexual person who has been hurt by the voices of others, a pansexual person looking for true love, and a person who identities as both male and female. There are as many sexualities as there are people.…

Last Gender: When We Are Nameless has story and art by Rei Taki, with English translation by Rose Padgett, and Kodansha Comics will release its first volume physically on October 11.

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Is It Worth Reading?

Jean-Karlo Lemus
Rating:

Last Gender: When We Are Nameless reminds me a lot of MTV's Undressed: on the surface, it might seem like a raunchy collection of stories about adults boning, but it's actually a very well-thought-out exploration of sexuality and identity. And much like Undressed, the stories are vignettes that flow into each other: each subsequent chapter builds upon a character established as a side-character in the previous one. It's a smart bit of writing that really does help illustrate the variety of BAR California's clientele.

Some of these stories deal with very intense struggles involving queer identity (the manga has a disclaimer at the start of the book, in a very appreciated move). But it is very respectful towards the characters and their stories. It can feel somewhat didactic in its explanations, but some anvils need to be dropped—especially considering this is being written in consideration of an audience that might not be as up-to-date on lexicon.

There's also a really good handling of sex and people's relationships with it; some people go to BAR California to enjoy pleasures they can't in the outside world, and some don't go for the sex at all, but purely to present in a way they're comfortable while surrounded by people they know won't judge them. All the while, the mysterious barkeep watches over them—and they're very mysterious indeed. The stories are touching, the tone is perfect, and the art is excellent. Definitely recommended.

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Rebecca Silverman
Rating:

It's easy to feel displaced if you're on the outside of what's supposedly “normal.” For a lot of people anywhere in the LGBTQIA+ alphabet, it's often easier just not to talk about it, especially if you grew up in a situation where you didn't necessarily have the words to describe who you are. That's where Last Gender takes its starting point—somewhere in Tokyo is a hole-in-the-wall (on the outside, at least) place called Bar California, and it offers its patrons something special: the chance to be themselves. Apparently run by the largely enigmatic Yo, the bar caters to people who don't have the luxury of understanding from the rest of the world, and in this first volume we meet a variety of people and learn their stories.

The format of the book is a large part of what makes it work. We enter the story with Manami, a lesbian who has always thought that there was something wrong with her because she's not “supposed” to like other women. During Manami's story we meet Ran, a bisexual transwoman, who leads the second chapter and introduces us to Mao, a pansexual man she becomes involved with, and then Mao leads us to Marie who leads us to Amiru. It's a very natural, interconnected way to tell the story of many people who converge in one place, and great care is taken to make sure that we as readers understand the characters in a way that their own world often denies them.

The thoughtfulness and unflinching manner in which each story is told is another strength of the story. It comes across most clearly in Ran's, Amiru's, and Marie's chapters, although Mao's experience of being rejected by his parents for being pansexual and their constant voicemails offering to take him to therapy will be all too familiar to some readers. Ran and Marie, who is bigender (their other name is Masanori, during times when he feels male), both worry that they'll be rejected and misunderstood, leading Ran to become her own worst enemy as she makes assumptions that no one will give her a chance because of her body and her bisexuality. Amiru, meanwhile, is aromantic—she's got a sex drive, but isn't romantically attracted to anyone. Her inclusion in the book is significant because we see aromantic even less frequently than asexual, and almost never without asexuality present. Amiru's story is less about seeking outside acceptance (although she wishes that people would just quit it with the whole “you just haven't met the right man yet” garbage) and more about giving herself permission to be the main character in her own life. Hers is the most affirming of the chapters, although Marie/Masanori's is the one that made me tear up in a good way.

Last Gender is important. It covers so much ground that barely ever sees the light of day, and it does it with good intentions that largely follow through. (That goes for the glosses as well.) It's like Kermit the Frog said, “Rainbows have nothing to hide.” Come in to Bar California and see why.