Losing the people important to you can make you feel like you're at a crossroads in life. Society encourages us to find fulfillment in the people around us, not just objects or achievements—but the problem is that people are impermanent. They can leave, and worse, they can die. Sometimes, their death is at their own hands, leaving you with an extra layer of despair, wondering what you could have done to intervene before it all went wrong. This is the dilemma Shiino finds herself in when her friend Mariko commits suicide and she is left to pick up the pieces.

Shiino has been doing this for her best friend for a long time now. My Broken Mariko doesn't flinch at depicting the horrors of Mariko's home life, the constant sadness and desperation that, it is suggested, pushed Mariko to the brink. But fundamentally, this is more Shiino's story: how she copes with the loss of her friend and, slowly, learns how to pick up the pieces of her own life.

The rawness of My Broken Mariko is accentuated by its art style. Waka Hirako's style has a "sketchiness" to it, emphasizing the rough lines of the characters: the dark circles under their eyes, their unkempt hair flowing in the breeze. In the case of Mariko and Shiino, it highlights how life takes its toll on them: through the abuse Mariko suffers, and through Shiino's attempt to support her friend and later, give her a proper burial. Much of the last half of the manga is taken up with Shiino stealing Mariko's ashes from her abusive parents, so that they can be scattered over a beach that Mariko had always wanted to visit. Though the text of the story already tells us, the art goes the extra mile in showing us the menace of Mariko's father, the frustration of her stepmother, and particularly the exhaustion and grime of Shiino's journey.

There's also a bit of humor sometimes in the way Hirako draws characters' disgruntled expressions—particularly with Shiino, who tends to be brusque and loud even over minor scruples, especially after her trip goes horribly wrong. In this way, the art style also offsets some of the misery in this volume. And there is a lot of misery here: not only is suicide covered, but Mariko turns out to have been a victim of domestic abuse, including sexual assault at the hands of her father. Hirako does a good job of ensuring that the humor keeps the reader from falling too far into this pit of despair without ever feeling like it makes light of the characters' (and particularly Mariko's) suffering. It helps that the story is largely told from Shiino's perspective—someone who is intimately acquainted with what her friend has gone through over the years.

Speaking of that relationship: Some descriptions of the book mention "romance," which made me wonder if there would be some between Mariko and Shiino. What is there is subtle, and comes alongside mentions of them having (unsatisfying, especially in Mariko's case) relationships with men before the series. But it's still made clear that what Shiino feels for her friend is love, that those feelings were returned, and that's only added to the impact of her friend's death. But the nature of that love is left up to the reader. I like to think there was some romantic feeling there, but I'm left in the rare position where I'm a bit glad that the story didn't actually "go there." Mariko's death already feels devastating enough without that extra impact, particularly in the context of how common lesbian suicide storylines are in manga. It is a better match for the wistful, thoughtful tone of this manga to keep it on that level of ambiguity, to make Shiino and the reader alike wonder "what could have been."

That brings us to Shiino herself, who is both the manga's greatest strength and weakness. Her reactions to the events around her—a complex combination of sadness, fury and resigned frustration—are what drive the story forward. Yet Shiino herself is also kind of a thin character. We don't learn much about her life or who she is outside of her relationship with Mariko. The most we get is a bit at the beginning about her job, but that doesn't tell us much more than that it sucks, with her boss totally unsympathetic to Shiino's desire to take off work after hearing the news. The issue of it is wholly dropped later after Shiino goes on her cross-country journey to liberate Mariko's ashes. It gives the impression that Shiino has dedicated her life entirely to supporting her friend—which may be true. Shiino certainly seems lost and purposeless in the aftermath, and in one disturbing scene, even considers following her friend to the grave. Still, I feel like there had to be a little bit more about her, and would have liked to get that deeper background on our protagonist.

Yen Press' edition of the manga features an additional short story manga by Waka Hirako, "Yiska." It's a western about an outlaw who comes across and helps a lost Native American boy while on the run from his old gang. It's pretty simple, but does a good job of drawing the reader into the relationship between these two characters, and very slowly and steadily revealing its hand about who they are. Combined with My Broken Mariko, there is a common theme about lost souls finding each other—as at the end of the manga, a similar connection happens for Shiino.

The whole volume showcases Waka Hirako as a creator to watch, telling thoughtful stories that fall off the beaten path. My Broken Mariko feels more like something I'd normally encounter in Western indie comics, and in that sense demonstrates that manga has just as much potential as any other medium. It's certainly not for everyone: from the central suicide storyline to its descriptions of the emotional, physical and sexual abuse that Mariko suffered throughout her life, this may be too disturbing for some readers. But if you are ready for the experience, My Broken Mariko is the kind of manga that makes you think and feel, and stay with you for days after you close the volume.