Manga awakens the wide-eyed fangirl/boy in masses of us, regardless of gender or generation—perhaps it’s due to its boundless fantasy and variety of themes (sci-fi; sport; horror; music; gender fluidity; historical epic, such as Noda Satoru’s modern hit Golden Kamuy, which provides the exhibition’s main poster artwork; “boys’ love”—the range is endless), the beauty of its form, or what Rousmaniere describes as “the power of the line”: in manga comics, we engage with the ink itself.

That sense of excitement is key to this exhibition; it’s immediate yet also richly layered and sleekly streamlined. There’s a breathtaking quality to the large-scale original genga (manga illustration) works, with Japanese artists’ blood types (believed to signify their creative tendencies) included on the accompanying bios. Part of the exhibition’s challenge was that manga is a form you’d ordinarily hold in your hands, not display on a wall—but it commands the cavernous space here. There’s also a genuine thrill when you encounter a favourite character—in my case, the hyper-cute android Astro Boy (one of the most famous mid-twentieth-century creations of Osamu Tezuka, aka “the godfather of manga”, who was both influenced by, and a major influence on, Disney).

Rousmaniere’s own passion for manga was sparked during her time spent studying archaeology and teaching in Japan; in 2015, she curated the British Museum’s relatively bijou (but widely acclaimed) Manga Now, and her academic background (in ceramics and three-dimensional objects) also brings a refreshing perspective to an exhibition that attempts to consider manga “in the round”: historically, societally, materially.

“I view comics very much like the ceramics industry,” she says. “It’s about mass production of artistic material that serves almost a higher purpose of industrial design. It’s a very democratic medium.”