I can’t remember if I already said this, but I’m going to try switching to this format for Book Spotlight posts as well as Interlude posts. My thoughts seem to flow more naturally in this format and lately I’m trying to be better about testing new ways of doing things for better results. Now, to business.

I regret not picking up this book sooner! It was one of those cases of pushing it further down the TBR after reading the back cover, as it sounded like it might be a theater story, and I wasn’t really in the mood for a theater story. I really liked Abby as a character. I wouldn’t mind reading more of her future adventures.

The color palette of the art was interesting. Initially, I found it rather stark and unappealing, but as the story progressed, I realized the colors were doing an excellent job of setting the atmosphere of various scenes.

At the end of the story, I realized I’d been waiting for some explicit reference to Abby’s nikkei-ness, but I also think including such references would have made it a very different story, and it seems that was not Tamaki’s goal here. There appear to be racial undertones to many of Abby’s experiences with the other students, but nothing that seemed specifically Japanese and/or nikkei. I did wonder about Jessica, as she appears to be Asian, but I didn’t see this confirmed anywhere in the text.

The most ‘explicit’ othering of Abby by her peers seems to focus on their assumptions about her sexual orientation. No one says anything outright about her race and I wondered about the reason for this. If we assume that at least some of the students’ pointed exclusion of Abby is, consciously or not, driven by their perceptions of her race, I wonder if these initial, more subtle (but not less harmful) behaviors laid the groundwork for the students’ subsequent, very pointed speculation about whether she is gay. If my interpretation is correct, it’s an excellent depiction of how layered prejudices operate in a school setting.

Lastly, I appreciate the moment when Abby says she is questioning her sexual orientation, as I can’t immediately recall any examples of this in the nikkei-authored books that were around when I was her age. It’s great to think today’s young nikkei readers have a much better chance of seeing their diverse identities reflected in books.

Title: This Place Kills Me

Author: Mariko Tamaki

Genre: Contemporary

Book Type: Graphic novel

Would read this author again: Yes – past readers of this blog will know this isn’t my first Mariko Tamaki book and I very much doubt it’ll be my last!

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

The Mochi Makers, written and illustrated by Sharon Fujimoto-Johnson, portrays the author’s family mochi-making tradition.

What I liked:

• I really love it when I come across another nikkei author whose work feels so familiar. I felt this the most in the small details in Fujimoto-Johnson’s illustrations that were echoes of home to me, like the way the characters dress or how the kitchen looks.
• There was a lot of pink in this book! Does Fujimoto-Johnson like pink? I like pink. I don’t usually think of sakura mochi when I think of mochitsuki, but I definitely felt a quasi-hanami vibe from Fujimoto-Johnson’s palette. I also like ohagi, so yay for that reference!

What I learned:

• I’ve only ever made mochi with a machine (and I’ve seen it pounded by hand), so I hadn’t really thought about the logistics of making it in a rice cooker. It makes sense, though I wonder if a large batch can be made in a rice cooker. That said, maybe a smaller batch is better if there are only two people in the kitchen. We have a lot more people at our family mochitsuki – we need all the hands to roll the mochi before it gets hard. Come to think of it, I’ve never asked our family friends, who are nikkei (including multiracial nikkei), if they feel any sort of connection to Japanese culture from participating in mochitsuki every year. Same with some of my cousins (they are multiethnic nikkei and, I think, probably more familiar with their Chinese heritage) – I’ve never asked if they come to mochitsuki to retain a connection to their Japanese heritage.

Questions I had:

• Did Fujimoto-Johnson envision a particular audience for this book? It felt a bit like how a nikkei kid and their parent might explain mochitsuki to a classroom full of predominantly non-nikkei students. At the same time, I enjoyed the story as a nikkei reader who was already familiar with the content. I actually think this book would flow well in Japanese – has Fujimoto-Johnson considered writing a Japanese version?

Follow-up:

• I believe Fujimoto-Johnson has another picture book coming out, so I’ll be on the lookout!

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Navigating With(out) Instruments is a series of poems and notes in which traci kato-kiriyama reflects on how past and present nikkei experiences, both individual and collective, have the potential to influence our community’s future in different ways.

What I liked:

• As someone who has never lived among the nikkei communities of SoCal, I spent a lot of time wondering how this book might have turned out if kato-kiriyama’s primary experience of being nikkei had occurred somewhere else. It seems, at least in part, that kato-kiriyama is at times writing to a specific nikkei audience, but I wasn’t always sure if that audience included nikkei outside of the community that seems to have shaped much of kato-kiriyama’s thoughts about nikkei-ness. This is not to say that I didn’t recognize some of the nikkei personas that kato-kiriyama calls out, but even so I often found myself wondering if a particular nikkei persona situated in the geospatial(?) context of nikkei communities in SoCal (only nikkei in the Little Tokyo area?) would look or act or feel the same as a nikkei persona by the same name in another location. (And also, of course, understanding that location is not by any means the only characteristic that differentiates nikkei communities from one another.) Anyway, while I haven’t yet sorted out how I feel about this aspect of the book, I appreciate kato-kiriyama for intentionally (or not?) drawing my attention to it. (Speaking of location, I happened to see an advertisement in the supermarket about a nikkei family-run strawberry farm in the Monterey area, and 1) it reminded me of that manga I read a while back about running a strawberry farm and 2) it made me think about the small nikkei communities in the less urban areas of California – and, really, in general, throughout this country – and reminded me to check my nikkei TBR to see if I’ve got any books about rural nikkei communities in the US.)
• The feeling I got from reading Navigating With(out Instruments reminded me of the feeling I get when reading the poet Chen Chen’s work. (Side note: I don’t usually use these posts to promo non-nikkei creators, but I’ve learned a lot from Chen’s work (and, maybe more importantly, it was an enjoyable kind of learning) and if you haven’t read him before, I encourage you to go forth and do so.)

What I learned:

• Prior to reading Navigating With(out) Instruments, I didn’t know much about kato-kiriyama other than that they are a poet. I wonder if kato-kiriyama, in choosing to include so many personal details in this book, anticipated and/or preferred readers coming to this book with or without prior knowledge of kato-kiriyama’s life?

Questions I had:

• When I read kato-kiriyama, much like when I read Brandon Shimoda, or Mine Okubo, or Tamiko Nimura, I find myself circling back to a question that, at least for me, is still a work in progress. The question takes many forms, including, what is the way forward for us, as a community (communities, but I also say ‘community’ to recognize the connection that I feel, even if faint, whenever I meet other nikkei), if we believe in working toward a better existence, not only for ourselves, but also for anyone who is working toward the same?

Follow-up:

• I’ll be keeping an eye out for kato-kiriyama’s next book!
• If you’re able to do so, consider visiting the online book shop, Open Books: A Poem Emporium, which hosts the online bookstore for Workshops 4 Gaza – all book proceeds support the people of Gaza.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

The Star Festival, written by Moni Ritchie Hadley and illustrated by Mizuho Fujisawa, tells the story of Tanabata through the eyes of a child, Keiko.

What I liked:

• Mizuho Fujisawa’s warm, bright colors were probably my favorite part of this book. To be perfectly honest, I did not find the story all that interesting (in the sense that it wasn’t a particularly new or unique perspective on Tanabata for me), but I like to think it’s a nice introduction to Tanabata for nikkei kids who might not know about it.

What I learned:

• I believe I read that Fujisawa is based in France. It would be interesting to learn how she landed a contract for a children’s book in US publishing – not in the sense that there is anything wrong, but rather to determine if there are additional ways to open up illustration opportunities in the US and other North American or European markets for nihonjin artists looking to make the move. More broadly, I think about all the Asian names, including Japanese names, in the credits of animated films and shows produced in the US, and I wonder about the breakdown amongst the Japanese creators between nihonjin and nikkeijin. Are there opportunities to build stronger connections between Japanese people in Japan and Japanese people outside Japan, through careers in the arts (or art/tech), not just in terms of enabling folks to find work, but also to support cultural exchange and improved mutual understanding as the basis for a more cohesive global Japanese community?

Questions I had:

• Did any other nikkei readers feel that Keiko is presented as very white in her behavior and mannerisms? (The only especially Japanese feeling I got from her is her use of the word Oba, but in the context of the rest of her behavior, it came across as somewhat disjointed.) To be fair, I wonder if this is partly the result of writing a Japanese story in English, but we know from the work of authors like Mina Ikemoto Ghosh that it’s entirely possible to write a very Japanese-feeling story in English. I also felt this book overall was very ‘white American’ in tone and style, as if Japanese culture was ‘being presented’ specifically to white kids or to kids for whom whiteness is normalized, rather than speaking directly to nikkei kids with varying degrees of familiarity with their culture. I’m not sure if Hadley made this choice intentionally or perhaps was encouraged to do so by her publishing team, but if she did make the choice intentionally, it would be interesting to learn more about her reasons for doing so.

Follow-up:

• I wonder if Hadley has considered writing a middle grade novel – I could see her doing well at a story similar to Debbi Michiko Florence’s middle grade novels.