What do you get when you combine some admittedly funky art with excellent characterization and a slice-of-life story about the romantic woes of a pair of professional women? Small-Minded Schoolgirls, the josei-ish, online-exclusive manhwa from NETCOMICS.

The series focuses on two women: Miru Na, a successful novelist, and Somi Han, a thwarted writer whose job is to secure talent for a literary magazine. Miru, 30, is prickly and fussy, and I honestly could probably go on for three paragraphs about her various quirks and flaws. She was popular with guys in her twenties, and always wearied of their attention and wished they’d leave her alone until one day, they did. Somi is younger and aloof, adept at hiding her real feelings, and unsure about what she really wants. She has a boyfriend, whom she claims to adore, but gets caught up in illicit flirtations with a married coworker.

The two women are acquainted, since Miru is going to be writing something for the magazine Somi works for, and though they interact occasionally (and, awesomely, do not like each other at all), the narrative mostly switches back and forth between them as they go to work, ponder existential questions, and deal with the men in their lives. Miru starts off looking for a passionate love, the kind where her mere presence is something very precious to another person, but loneliness compels her to entertain the advances of a former classmate, Dongsoon. His long-term adoration of her is flattering at first, but soon turns creepy. Somi, meanwhile, eventually realizes that she’s actually a pretty crappy girlfriend and is incapable of truly supporting her boyfriend’s dream of becoming an animator. Though declaring her eye would never rove again after the first coworker incident, the pattern’s already begun to repeat itself.

Of increasing importance is Miru’s brother, Migook, who is a resolutely apathetic slacker. He left his job over a misunderstanding he couldn’t be bothered to explain, and spends most of his time loafing around the house, reading tons of manhwa and maintaining a review blog (hee!). Slowly, we learn more details about the incident at work, and he gains more confidence about dealing with it and life in general. After long feeling like a man with nothing to offer, effectively threatening his sister’s stalker seems somehow to empower him and by the end of the second volume, he’s seeing someone and actually considering going back to work.

There are a few more characters who show up from time to time—the most important of these is Jingwan, Migook’s friend, who is looking like the perfect match for Miru—but they’re significant only in the way they impact our lead characters. Small-Minded Schoolgirls is definitely a character-centric tale that hinges more on the subtleties of interaction and personal foibles than big dramatic moments. The one time it goes there—when Dongsoon briefly kidnaps Miru—it feels wrong somehow. The series is full of keen observations on human nature and achieves poignancy and humor in equal measure. One storytelling aspect I particularly adore is the way toma uses boxes of omniscient narration to comment on what’s going on in a panel or to provide further insight into a character’s state of mind at that moment. My favorite occurs when Migook has just told Miru about his girlfriend. Before she can be truly happy for him, she unconsciously begins dialing the phone to call the new man she’s begun seeing. The narration in this panel reads, “Note: People are only able to congratulate others when they have their own peace of mind.”

While I recommend the series without reservation, the one area where it could prove a disappointment to some is in the art. The most obvious deviation from traditional manhwa is the fact that it’s in color. There’s no shading in the illustrations and backgrounds are apt to be solid fields of color, almost as if they were filled in using the bucket tool in Microsoft Paint. The drawing style itself takes some getting used to, as well. At first, I was reminded of the heta uma (bad, but good) style employed by Yusaku Hanakuma in Tokyo Zombie (Last Gasp). Eventually, though, I came to appreciate toma’s skill in depicting body language, and though close-ups are few and the scribbled black eyes inexpressive, the strength of the storytelling ensures that emotions are communicated without incident.

I’d be sad if the eccentric art kept anyone from giving Small-Minded Schoolgirls a try. After a while, it honestly becomes hard to imagine the series drawn in any other way and really, can josei lovers afford to be picky?

Review copies provided by the publisher. Review originally published at Manga Recon.

Morim Kang’s warm, family-oriented manhwa comes to a close in its seventh volume, bringing the tales of thirty-something Krumb, twenty-something Belle, and teenager Rok to a satisfying close. Each woman has faced personal and romantic challenges throughout the course of the series, and the ending resolves nearly all of these plot lines well while still retaining the sense that life will go on for these vibrant characters.

My one complaint about the conclusion involves the resolution of a subplot concerning an art teacher of Rok’s who became obsessed with her and who, it was suggested, suffered from mental illness. One of Rok’s friends does a bit of investigating but the solid truth behind his mysterious behavior is never known; I suppose that’s true to life—we sometimes never know the motivations of those who puzzle us—but it’s frustrating from a reader’s standpoint.

I’m not sure what the Korean equivalent of josei is, but whatever it is, I bet 10, 20, and 30 qualifies. Although there are some teens among the cast, two-thirds of the focus is on Krumb and Belle and their forays into the workplace and the dating scene. Though its tone is quite different from Mari Okazaki’s lamentably languishing Suppli, I’d recommend it as a possible consolation read for fans of that series. If nothing else, it’ll make you feel like hugging your mom.

Review copy provided by the publisher. Review originally published at Manga Recon.

10, 20, and 30 is a charming manhwa about three women, each in a different decade of life. Krumb is a widowed mother in her thirties; Rok, in her late teens, is Krumb’s daughter; and Belle, in her twenties, is Krumb’s niece and Rok’s cousin. As volume three begins, they’ve recently moved out of the spacious house that Krumb’s husband built and into an affordable-to-maintain apartment. Krumb has recently recovered from an illness, leading Rok to want to take on more of the caretaker role in the family. Meanwhile, Belle is spending most of her time doing nothing but loafing around and dreaming of possible careers without actually taking any steps toward making them happen.

Time is equally divided between the characters, and they all have their own plots involving personal growth. Krumb returns to work and must contend with a more demanding position, Rok is somewhat resentful of her mother’s fragility and strives to be more independent, and Belle is still trying to figure out what she wants to do with herself. Each also has a man in her life with some mystery attached: Krumb’s boss proposed to her then disappeared on a trip to Hong Kong, Belle is being wooed by a financial consultant with a scheming (and shrewish) girlfriend, and Rok has unwittingly become an object of obsession for a teacher at the art institute where she has enrolled in a class.

Because there are so many plots going on at once, the story tends to cut between them quickly and frequently, which can take a bit of getting used to. They also frequently intertwine, often in ways that show the characters in their best light. For example, Belle, who is often selfish and annoying and who might be fairly intolerable if the protagonist of the piece, shows what a good person she can be as she protects Rok from her creepy stalker or fights to wrest Krumb’s investments out of the grasp of the corrupt financier (once she figures out his game). In general, all of the characters look after each other and a feeling of warmth presides.

My one complaint with how the plots are handled is that the most dramatic moments themselves are never shown. In volume five, Krumb learns that her boss is alive but handicapped and goes to meet him. The meeting itself is not shown, and it’s not until a few chapters later, when she’s talking about it with her sister, that we actually glimpse anything of what went on with them. A similar thing happens in volume six: Belle answers the phone, says, “Mom? What’s wrong?”, and the next thing you know everyone’s talking about how her stepfather died and his will has been altered, et cetera. It’s a little frustrating, but I also love that the story focuses on what happens after the big drama has passed, as everyone tries to figure out what to do next to move on from the experience.

Art-wise, 10, 20, and 30 is not going to be everyone’s cup of tea. The style is simple, more like something you’d expect from a comic strip than a manhwa, but it does have moments when it’s quite attractive. Panel layout is strictly in the rectangle family, though at least it’s not the same rigid grid applied page after page. I do like how many chapters end on successive panels of each woman in a similar wistful moment, like gazing out at the first snowfall of the year or enjoying a Christmas celebration in each other’s company.

As volume six concludes, the story is beginning to wrap up. Gradually, the women are beginning to grow. Krumb is starting to stand up more for what she wants, Belle has grown up a lot and finally seems to be taking some responsibility for her life, and Rok has noticed her mother’s renewed strength and become more accepting of her. There are a few things left to make the ending a truly satisfying one, though, so I’m eager to see what the seventh and final volume brings.

Review copies provided by the publisher.