To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

The Hunger, by Alma Katsu, is a retelling of the Donner Party’s story that blends the genres of horror and historical fiction.

What I liked:

• Katsu knows how to hook a reader. The short chapters and unrelenting pace of The Hunger, as well as Katsu’s ability to weave compelling, character-driven plots with relatively few words, made this book a quick read even for me.
• I suppose I’m accustomed to reading books with a few, very obviously identified MCs, so Katsu’s narrative structure kept me guessing about whose story to follow or be most invested in, and whose story might function as background. I believe Stanton and Tamsen ended up with the most screen time, so to speak, but considering neither of them survive, I wonder if Katsu intended the reader’s attention to focus elsewhere. I also do not read very much horror, so it could very well be a genre trope for the MC to perish before the end. In the context of historical fiction, I appreciated the multiple perspectives because they serve as a stark reminder of the actual humans, the individuals at the heart of the Donner Party tragedy, and may even represent a broader commentary on how we remember and (re)tell history today.

What I learned:

• I did not know there were indigenous people traveling with the Donner Party. In the author’s note at the end, Katsu indicates Thomas is a fictional character based on a historical figure, Jean Baptiste Trudeau. I find it interesting that, in this story, the hunger sickness originates with white men, specifically men who journeyed from Europe to North America, and that it is a white male character who comes to this realization. Even more interesting, I did not read Bryant’s epiphany as any sort of redemption arc for him or any of the other white settlers. Thomas is very obviously murdered because of the racism of white men, racism that is clearly depicted on the page at many other points in the story. As the story progresses, it becomes evident that many of the white characters harbor dangerous, even criminal, secrets. Although the tone of the story does not strike me as anti-white, I appreciate that Katsu depicts white settlers, or “pioneers” – figures often glorified in white-written history textbooks as intrepid adventurers battling the ‘frightening’ (read: unfamiliar and populated by indigenous people) wilderness – in an altogether different light, reminding readers that, in addition to their explicit role in settler colonialism, many so-called pioneers lived lives far more questionable than their romanticized portrayals.

Questions I had:

• I remember learning about the Donner Party in school, but I don’t recall the details with sufficient clarity to know how much Katsu deviated from the historical narrative. That said, reading The Hunger made me consider the meaning of this type of fiction. What do readers gain, or what do authors hope their readers gain, from these retellings? Obviously, some retellings are sensationalized purely for entertainment, but I get the sense others, including The Hunger, are written with a more complex purpose in mind. At a time when rising nikkei authors are writing more books about JA incarceration, I wonder how these questions apply to retellings of our (nikkei) community histories as well. There are also a number of nikkei writers currently publishing work on the intersections of memory, family, and history, and I have even seen several works that seem to directly address how we might (re)contextualize JA incarceration stories through this lens.
• Historians, too, are storytellers, with particular perspectives and biases like any other writer, even if academia would sometimes encourage us to think otherwise. What is the line between history writing and historical fiction? (And I do not mean in a meta sense, as yes, today’s historical fiction may one day act as some future literary historian’s primary source.) What about the possibilities of a third space, if, for example, we define “history writing” as writing undertaken with the goal of recording “reality” as closely as it can be determined and “historical fiction” as writing undertaken with the goal of fictionalizing “reality” while retaining sufficient references for the reader to recognize the source material? In this situation, I conceptualize a third space as being writing undertaken with the goal of constructing a narrative, perhaps to fill a gap in the so-called historical record, while simultaneously recognizing that the writer will be utilizing their personal connection to the narrative to connect the dots in the absence of primary sources or other verifiable reference points. The resulting work will be a unique act of storytelling that helps structure or illuminate a broader narrative for the community while unambiguously asserting itself as the individual expression of the creator. I know works like this already exist, but I’m curious about how we might name and understand them specifically within the context of our (nikkei) community histories.
• Did Katsu envision a particular audience for this book? How have indigenous readers responded to this book? How do they feel about the portrayal of the indigenous characters?

Follow-up:

• I’ve already ordered another of Katsu’s books – I hope it will be as gripping as this one! I’m also waiting for Katsu’s recent release, The Fervor, to go into paperback.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

No One Else, written and illustrated by R. Kikuo Johnson, chronicles the everyday lives of a nikkei family on Maui.

What I liked:

• I spotted No One Else quite by chance in the graphic novel section of my local independent bookstore and was surprised to realize R. Kikuo Johnson had published another book. Since I do my best to stay on top of releases by nikkei authors, I actually considered this moment unexpectedly auspicious and took it as a sign to buy the book. I imagine fellow readers who spend long hours browsing in the bookstore, but often leave without buying much – thanks to the out-of-control TBR piles already taking up inordinate amounts of space in our homes – can relate to the spark of joy when we come across a book we never expected to find, but nonetheless know we must purchase. Shout-out to my local independent bookstore for stocking your tiny graphic novel section so well! Thank you!

What I learned:

• Is it just me, or does No One Else feel incredibly Japanese-as-in-nihonjin to any other nikkei readers? I do not mean the surface of the story, of course, the visual references like the setting, character design, and so forth, but rather the nature of the story, the studied focus on what initially appears mundane yet, when thrust under the spotlight, proves startlingly compelling and sometimes just plain odd or funny. Most JA graphic novelists and comics creators do not overtly bring manga to mind for me, but in this case, the atmosphere of No One Else was one I could easily envision in any number of manga, though, as stated above, the surface of the story would likely be completely different. I wonder what Johnson would make of this assessment of his work. It would be funny if he totally disagreed with me. That said, No One Else also very much has the feel of US comic strips, which is not surprising given Johnson’s portfolio.

Questions I had:

• The more I read about Johnson’s background and “day job,” the more I get the sense he is kind of a big cheese in the illustration world. No One Else is an intimate work, but also – or perhaps, because of – is potentially a work that might easily fly under the radar of many readers. Although I could be wrong, I get the impression this book was published because Johnson wanted to publish a book, not necessarily because he expected to derive any substantial income from it. If I’m correct, I wonder, who is Johnson’s intended audience for this book? Did he envision one? Is it for fans who know his illustrations for the New Yorker? Is it for nikkei families and/or any local families in Hawaii who are just trying to make it in the world? How did Johnson picture readers reacting to this book?
• No one else. I really liked this title because it felt very open to interpretation. It might mean, there is no one else to do the work to keep a family going, except the family members themselves, which Charlene, her son, and her brother all clearly understand in their own ways. Although other characters appear on the pages, Charlene and her family are depicted as vividly alone – and lonely – as they navigate the death and aftermath of death of her father (I am suddenly very curious to hear Brandon Shimoda’s thoughts on the depiction of death/aftermath in this story). It might also mean, there is no one else who experiences such hardships or trials, not necessarily in the sense that literally no one else experiences hardships, but in the sense that, when you are experiencing trauma, it can be difficult to see beyond your current situation or to comprehend or care that someone else might be going through the same or worse. From a broader perspective, I wonder if “no one else” might also illuminate the underlying isolation of life in Hawaii for locals. While living in Hawaii may be like living in a small town, as Charlene’s brother observes, it also comes across as impersonal, as everyone outside of Charlene’s family goes about their own lives, unable and/or unwilling to penetrate the barrier to meaningful interaction. I recall one unit from an art history class in which the terror, loneliness, and isolation of “modern” life were major themes in a certain period of US art, as depicted in sweeping landscapes, industrial cityscapes, and seemingly intimate, quiet, yet cold and uncaring interpersonal scenes. Although the examples we studied were works by white men (I hope the curriculum has since been reevaluated), I felt echoes of similar themes while reading No One Else, and I wonder if Johnson was referencing – or perhaps responding to – these preceding artworks as well. Is he writing back against stereotypes of Hawaii as a warm, welcoming paradise in which words like ohana are over/used by outsiders? If this is the case, depending on whether or not Johnson is of Native Hawaiian descent, what might it signify for a potentially non-Hawaiian nikkei person to imply ownership, or insider-ness, in Hawaii, by reacting to outsider encroachment?

Follow-up:

• When I read Johnson’s previous work, Night Fisher, I did not particularly think of Johnson as one of my favorite nikkei graphic novelists, but I find myself increasingly impressed with his ability to convey thoughts and emotions so subtly and sensitively through his minimalist style. I’m looking forward to his future work!

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Starfish, by Akemi Dawn Bowman, follows the story of teen artist Kiko Himura as she struggles to make sense of her life after being rejected from her dream school.

What I liked:

• In hindsight, I’m glad I read Summer Bird Blue before Starfish, as I think there’s a possibility the experience of reading Starfish may not have encouraged me to immediately read more of Bowman’s work. I did not dislike Starfish, per se, and feel it was very well written, but it was the type of story that reminded me why contemporary is not my favorite genre. That said, it is a credit to Bowman’s writing that I finished Starfish and I definitely agree with the many compliments of her writing style that I have seen online.
• The depiction of Kiko’s social anxiety was simultaneously extremely relatable and somewhat off-putting to me. To be clear, I do not fault Bowman for my reaction. If anything, I appreciate the opportunity to self-reflect on why I reacted the way I did to Kiko’s story.
• Although I do not often feel deeply invested one way or the other when it comes to endings for MCs in contemporary novels, I felt incredibly relieved when things worked out (more or less) for Kiko in the end. I hope Taro and Shoji get happy endings, too.

What I learned:

• I have extended family in the Midwest, including Nebraska. Although I do not consider my hometown a particularly JA-heavy part of the Bay Area, my experiences growing up undoubtedly included deeper and more nuanced interactions with Asian cultures, including Japanese culture, than someone like Kiko might be able to access. I wonder if my Midwest relatives would identify with Kiko, or if any of them have read Starfish.

Questions I had:

• How did mixed-race nikkei/JA readers react to Kiko? Do they find her relatable? Not being mixed-race myself, I can only say the depiction of Kiko’s emotions and thought processes came across as painstakingly realistic, which I assumed was due to Bowman drawing on her own experiences as a mixed-race nikkei person.
• Why did Bowman set this story in Nebraska? Does she have family there or some other personal connection?
• Is the Himura family’s history linked to WWII JA incarceration? I do not recall any references to JA incarceration in the book, but if the Himura family arrived in the US after the war, or were not originally on the West Coast, it is quite conceivable Kiko’s ancestors never spent time in a US government concentration camp.

Follow-up:

• None of Bowman’s currently released works jumps out at me as something I’d like to read, but I’m looking forward to her future books.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Summer Bird Blue, by Akemi Dawn Bowman, follows high schooler Rumi Seto as she navigates life after the death of her sister.

What I liked:

• I have quite possibly never related to an MC in a YA contemporary novel as much as I relate to Rumi. So many of Rumi’s thought processes and behaviors mirror my own, perhaps more so than any real person I’ve met. Our interests and backgrounds are very different, but the way Rumi approaches and analyzes human interactions, as well as her own actions in the moment, is very much me. It’s unusual for me to come across YA or MG novels with characters that actually remind me of me, but in this instance, I wonder if my younger self would have made significantly different life choices if I had read Summer Bird Blue when I was Rumi’s age. The road not taken and all that…
• Kai, and specifically what Kai represents, is so interesting to me. I grew up in a not-very-Asian part of the Bay Area and can think of very few instances when my peers actively included Asian guys in the definition of who qualifies as attractive. Looking back, I realize I unconsciously kept many of these thoughts to myself, sensing on some level that it would be pointless to articulate them to the people around me. Admittedly, in Summer Bird Blue, Kai is very much situated in Hawaii, and I’m not sure if my teen self would have considered someone like him just as out of reach for this reason as anything else, but I wonder if seeing a character like him on the page would have encouraged me to be more outspoken about the possibility of attractive Asian guys. It’s reassuring to look around at pop culture now and see groups like BTS bringing a more global perspective to definitions of beauty and trendiness in the US, as I hope this means there are fewer Asian kids growing up with the same social limitations I experienced.

What I learned:

• Funny story, I picked Summer Bird Blue out of my TBR after going on my very first trip to Hawaii (an enjoyable but also strange experience, given my knowledge of Asian settler colonialism), simply because I vaguely remembered it had a Hawaii setting. I actually think recently being in Hawaii contributed to my enjoyment of the book, because I was able to picture many of the settings based on my own experiences. Even the pidgin and speech patterns in the book felt familiar, most likely because I had a conversation about language in Hawaii with the friend I visited in Honolulu, which prompted me to pay much closer attention to how the locals spoke when I was out and about. This is not to say I have any deep knowledge of Hawaii, as I have never lived there, nor do I have any family connection to it that I know of, but the link between my trip and reading Summer Bird Blue definitely made me consider how my experiences of other books, set in places I have never been to, might significantly change if I actually visited those places.
• One of my favorite aspects of Summer Bird Blue, which I did not realize until I was mentally reviewing the book in preparation for this post, is the predominance of people of color in all the main roles. I have a feeling part of the immense sense of comfort I felt while reading this book came from the same place as the comfort I felt in Oahu, which in hindsight was largely due to the presence of people of color everywhere. I had never seen so many Asians outside of Asia, much less so many Japanese people outside Japan, and it was exceedingly strange to realize I could walk around and not attract second looks based on non-Asians’ perception of my race or ethnicity. That said, as mentioned above, I’m not entirely sure I should feel comfortable in Hawaii, since Japanese people play such a significant role in the ongoing settler colonial state.

Questions I had:

• Does Bowman have any plans to return to Rumi’s story? Although Summer Bird Blue stands very well on its own, I imagine I’m not the only reader wondering what Rumi does after high school and whether she really never sees Kai again. Additionally, as someone who is slowly starting to wonder if I’m on the ace spectrum somewhere, I would be interested to know how Rumi’s sexual identity evolves as she becomes an adult.
• I did a quick search after reading Summer Bird Blue and found an article that indicates Bowman’s father is from Hawaii, though seemingly not Native Hawaiian. What is Bowman’s personal connection to Hawaii? Specifically, has she ever lived there? If not, what prompted her to set a novel in Hawaii?
• How did Native Hawaiian readers react to Summer Bird Blue? Do they feel Hawaii and Hawaiian culture is portrayed respectfully? How do they feel about Bowman’s choice of Rumi’s personal background, particularly that she is Hawaiian via her mother?
• What prompted Bowman to write a story centered so deeply on grief and death? Is this aspect of the book based on Bowman’s personal experiences? Did Bowman envision a particular audience for this book?
• How does Bowman situate herself and her work in the existing body of nikkei literature? From Bowman’s perspective, what does it mean to be ‘nikkei author’ in today’s literary landscape?

Follow-up:

• As is likely true of many who have been in the online POC book community for the past several years, I remember what happened when certain readers responded to Akemi Dawn Bowman’s debut, Starfish. Even now, I’m still not entirely sure whose “side,” if any, I’m on, but the incident made me deeply consider how authors and readers impact each other, for better or worse. Starfish has stayed buried in my TBR for years, due to my complicated feelings about what happened, but based on how much I enjoyed Summer Bird Blue, I think I am now willing to give Starfish a try.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Those Who Helped Us, written by Ken Mochizuki and illustrated by Kiku Hughes, follows the story of one Japanese American family who is forcibly removed from their Seattle home and incarcerated in the US government concentration camp Minidoka during World War II.

What I liked:

• Kiku Hughes is such a gifted artist. Her minimalist style, with emphasis on character portrayals, particularly emotions communicated through facial expressions and other body language, keeps the reader focused on what the people in the story are experiencing, which I feel strongly grounds this history in a human context. Although it may be difficult for contemporary readers, both nikkei and non-nikkei, to understand what Japanese Americans (and nikkei in other western countries) experienced during the war, Hughes makes a strong effort to bridge the gap, reminding us that actual people went through the experiences chronicled in history books today.
• I very much appreciate that, while this book is ostensibly the story of non-Japanese people who assisted the JA community during the war, the actual narrative is told through a nikkei perspective. Perspective is always a fraught topic in history; I believe it warrants closer examination in nikkei history-telling in particular.

What I learned:

• I’ve repeatedly heard of non-Japanese helping incarcerated JAs in various ways, but this is the first time I’ve read a book focused on these people.

Questions I had:

• Who came up with the original concept of this book and what was their primary goal? If one of their aims was to shed light on a less-discussed aspect of JA camp history, I agree that it is valuable to tell these stories, and I especially appreciate that this particular story was told by Japanese creators. At the same time, because of the level of white intervention that has historically existed, and continues to exist (and influence) the chronicling of our (nikkei) histories and other community stories, combined with what I interpret as the mercenary motives of certain white writers (especially in fiction) who seek to tell POC stories for personal gain, I’m concerned about what potential doors a story like this may open for non-Japanese writers trying to tell Japanese stories. I only hope that, moving forward, more opportunities are made available for nikkei writers, especially those seeking to tell nikkei stories, and that up-and-coming nikkei creators do not find themselves competing for space within our (nikkei) community with non-nikkei creators, at least not without a carefully considered look at what (if any) purpose is served by offering that space to a non-nikkei creator.
• Now that more and more nikkei graphic novelists are bringing their work into the existing body of nikkei literature, I wonder if one day ‘nikkei graphic novels’ or ‘Japanese American graphic novels’ will constitute a significant subgenre in diaspora Japanese literature and/or art. I’m especially curious to see if a distinct style emerges, in the same way most manga is instantly recognizable for what it is.

Follow-up:

• Hughes is undoubtedly a rising star in the nikkei literature and arts scene and I’m looking forward to her next project.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Night Fisher, written and illustrated by R. Kikuo Johnson, chronicles the coming-of-age of Loren Foster, a privileged teen in Hawaii struggling to find his place in life.

What I liked:

• Night Fisher has actually been on my TBR for years, but never quite at the very top, so I was pleasantly surprised when a friend gifted it to me for my birthday. Yes, this is less “what I liked” about the book and more a shout-out to my friend, but it’s my blog, so whatever.
• I am not personally familiar with Hawaii, but from photographs and artwork (and TV ads), I’ve always imagined it to be a lush, colorful place, and it was striking to view it instead through Johnson’s stark, black-and-white panels. I do not know if this medium is typical of all of Johnson’s work, or if he chose it specifically for this story, but I felt the absence of color stripped away any opportunity for the reader to project “paradise” fantasies onto the Hawaiian landscape and people, thus forcing the reader to focus solely on what is happening to Loren and his friends. Johnson’s style, particularly his tendency to situate one or two human figures against a broader natural landscape, reminds me of works by US artist Rockwell Kent. The scenes depicting night fishing, as well as those describing Loren and his dad battling their blooming garden, seem to position humans against nature in a way that suggests nature will always demand its due respect from those who inhabit it. Are the depictions of nature in the book reflective of Johnson’s personal perspective?

What I learned:

• Night Fisher is a departure from the usual coming-of-age stories I read, not that I read many. It’s not a genre I consider among my favorites. Although I cannot relate to the types of activities Loren undertakes in his free time, the apparent aimlessness and try-anything-once mentality that seems to guide many of Loren’s actions was fascinating to watch. It was also disturbing to realize how “easy” it is for kids to stray down paths they may not have intended to follow, simply by virtue of knowing the “right” people.

Questions I had:

• Is Loren’s story relatable to people of Johnson’s age and background? Do today’s teens see any part of themselves reflected in Loren’s thoughts and actions?
• Many of the characters in Night Fisher appear Asian, but few references are made to people’s specific backgrounds. Did Johnson intend Loren to be nikkei, as he himself is?
• It is not clear exactly how many of the characters self-identify as Native Hawaiian. Did Johnson consider Native Hawaiian sovereignty as he was creating this book? As a nikkei person who grew up in Hawaii (with, as far as I can tell, no Native Hawaiian ancestry), how does Johnson situate himself with regard to Native Hawaiian sovereignty?
• Did Johnson envision a specific audience for this book? How did Native Hawaiian readers feel about this book? How is Johnson as an artist/public figure perceived by Native Hawaiians, particularly with regard to how he depicts Hawaii in his work?
• How would Johnson situate himself and his work in the field of nikkei literature? What are his thoughts on the concept of nikkei literature?

Follow-up:

• I am not sure if I will be seeking out more of Johnson’s work, but I am certainly interested in reading more work by nikkei artists who grew up in Hawaii.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Sweet and Sour, by Debbi Michiko Florence, chronicles the ups and downs of tween friendships through the eyes of Mai Hirano during one unforgettable summer in Connecticut.

What I liked:

• (Upper) Middle grade contemporary is a genre I never expected to get into, but Debbi Michiko Florence keeps me turning the pages! I preordered Sweet and Sour mostly out of loyalty – I try to support as many Japanese American authors’ new releases as my budget allows – and quite frankly did not expect to enjoy it as much as I enjoyed Florence’s previous novel, Just Be Cool, Jenna Sakai, but to my surprise I read Sweet and Sour in practically one sitting. The chapters were so short and readable, and it was much too easy to tell myself, “just one more chapter.” Also, who knew I would become so invested in finding out what happens between Mai and Zach? I was a serious, quiet kid, so I’m not sure I would have related to Mai very much if I had read Sweet and Sour when I was her age (she is so outspoken and outgoing, she probably would have intimidated me), but as an adult I really enjoyed the lighthearted touches throughout the book, like Mai’s love of BTS and Zach’s gifts from Japan, as well as Florence’s sensitive portrayal of relationships. I hope seeing characters like Mai and Zach on the page will inspire and comfort nikkei kids and other kids who can relate to their story.

What I learned:

• I do not know much about international schools in Japan, but is it normal for students like Zach to so easily obtain a modeling side gig? It sounded like a coincidence, due to the teacher’s connection, but I would be interested to read some studies comparing the rate of successful employment in Japan for non-citizens who have attended international schools in Japan, versus non-citizens who attended Japanese schools.

Questions I had:

• I was very much under the impression that “stan” is a term coined by the Black/African American community and as such would fall under the category of AAVE. Although I’ve heard many non-Black people use “stan” in everyday conversation, if my understanding of its origins is correct, I don’t believe non-Black authors should be using it in their novels, unless they acknowledge its proper origin and context on the page (there is also the question of whether, if a non-Black author is writing a Black character – should they write a Black character? – how much, if any, AAVE should be incorporated?). From what I read in Sweet and Sour, “stan” is used repeatedly by non-Black characters to describe the behavior of non-Black characters, but not once is it contextualized by acknowledging its connection to the Black community. If in fact “stan” was not originated by the Black community or another marginalized community, then there is likely no issue here, but if I’m correct, I believe Florence and her agent/editor should have taken a harder look at their chosen terminology. As much as I want to celebrate normalizing Asian authors writing Asian characters, it needs to be done without also normalizing non-Black Asians appropriating Black culture.

Follow-up:

• I believe Florence has another novel coming out soon, which I look forward to reading, though I hope it will not include any content that raises potential concerns about appropriating Black culture.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

The Archronology of Love, by Caroline M. Yoachim, follows Dr. Saki Jones as she pursues the truth of what happened to her partner, MJ, on a doomed colony on New Mars.

What I liked:

• Yoachim’s writing is incredibly reminiscent of Nnedi Okorafor’s style in the Binti series; both authors excel at constructing complex worlds with remarkably few words. I am not generally a huge reader of short fiction or novellas and kept expecting to feel a lack of description or detail somewhere in the text, but Yoachim perfectly walks the balance between too little and too much.
• The concept of archronology and its similarities to archaeology is fascinating! As someone who once dreamed of becoming a paleontologist, archaeologist, or anthropologist, I particularly enjoyed the conceptual framework of this story. Maybe I need to read more science fiction, because I find myself wishing more authors would delve into this area. I also appreciated the emphasis on how journeys into the Chronicle destroy the original data, a notion which I often feel is somewhat overlooked in certain fields of contemporary scholarship.

What I learned:

• Yoachim created a whole world, an entire story, without once describing the physical appearance of the main character! I thrive on character descriptions, but though I was slightly surprised by the absence of them in this story, at the end I found myself considering how the lack of visual cues provided by the author affects the reader’s experience. Certainly, I felt the pared-down descriptions streamlined the narrative as a whole. In many ways, this story felt like a 180-degree turn from full-length adult SFF novels, in which I often feel bogged down by pauses in the plot to unload excessive descriptions. I appreciate worldbuilding as much as the next reader, but I believe there are ways to effectively paint a picture without putting the reader to sleep or losing track of the main story. S.A. Chakraborty and Rebecca Roanhorse are some of my favorite epic SFF writers when it comes to integrating rich worldbuilding seamlessly into a compelling plot. I do wonder if Yoachim ever envisioned a version of this story in full-length novel form, with those missing character and setting descriptions included.

Questions I had:

• Saki and Kenzou have recognizably Japanese names, but does Yoachim intend these characters to be Japanese? What about MJ, whose initials are never explained? His hair is described as black at one point, upon which I chose to imagine him as Japanese, but I could very well be wrong.
• What does Yoachim think of the concept of ‘nikkei literature?’ Does she envision her own works as part of such a body of literature?
• Most of the named characters in the story appear to be Asian, yet no one ever makes a cultural or linguistic reference to their background. What prompted Yoachim to make these naming decisions?
• Saki appears to begin a relationship with Li Yingtai after her final meeting with MJ. Kenzou and Hyun-sik are also in a relationship. Considering the relatively small number of characters in the story, these relationships have a commensurately greater impact, suggesting Yoachim wishes to normalize the concept of queer Asians in space. What are Yoachim’s thoughts on LGBTQIA+ culture(s) and spaces within nikkei and/or Asian American communities?

Follow-up:

• Yoachim’s short story collection, Seven Wonders of a Once and Future World, has been on my to-buy list for years, but I think it’s finally time to hit buy!

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Skim, written and illustrated by sisters Mariko Tamaki and Jillian Tamaki, chronicles the ups and downs of high school life through the eyes of Kim.

What I liked:

• One aspect of nikkei, and, more broadly, Asian American and/or Asian diaspora art that I particularly appreciate is the care with which I feel these creators depict Asians on the page. This feeling was especially strong in Jillian Tamaki’s illustrations of Kim, who appears unabashedly herself at all times, with no apparent concerns about taking up space or catering to someone else’s expectations regarding her appearance. I especially enjoyed the scene where Kim bleaches her hair, not only because it may have been a reference to the blond/orange dye fad that swept Japan in my childhood, but also because Kim appears to make this choice on her own terms, for herself. Mariko Tamaki’s text reinforces Kim’s strong sense of self, her matter-of-fact responses to the people and situations around her never wavering from the core of who she is, in spite of the considerable emotional turmoil she undergoes over the course of the story.
• Jillian Tamaki brilliantly pays homage to Japanese (nihonjin) art styles while simultaneously utilizing her own unique character design for Kim. It was fascinating to see facial features that call to mind Edo-period art on every page, in a story with settings and themes quite distant from Japanese (nippon) culture. What prompted Tamaki to choose this particular style for Kim’s face?
• Although race and ethnicity do not appear to be overt themes in this story, I noticed multiple characters who appeared to be Asian, with the majority of the other characters appearing to be white. I’m curious about Kim’s relationships with the white characters closest to her, specifically Lisa. Lisa and Kim often have rather direct, terse exchanges, and for the most part, it was difficult for me to discern the true root of the eventual breakup of their friendship. There are certainly moments when I feel Lisa is directing racial microaggressions at Kim, which, while appearing to make Kim uncomfortable and/or unhappy, are not explicitly linked to racism in so many words. At other moments, I feel Lisa simply does not understand Kim’s personality, but I do not know if this is also rooted in racism – specifically, the kind of racism where the white friend speaks over the Asian friend and thus makes assumptions about the Asian friend because the Asian friend never has a chance to speak for themselves – or if this lack of understanding would still have occurred even if both girls were, for example, white. Lisa repeats many of Julie’s assumptions about Kim’s supposed thoughts of suicide to Kim, which makes me wonder if Lisa, consciously or not, is being swayed by peer pressure, a powerful force in high school. I do not know if the Tamaki sisters intended to depict how subtly racialization may affect the lives of students of color, sometimes without the student of color even recognizing the experience for what it is, but I can certainly relate to Kim’s experiences in this regard when I look back on former friendships with white classmates.

What I learned:

• Is it common for covens and AA groups to overlap? I do not know enough about either subject to recognize whether the Tamaki sisters were attempting to be humorous or to make some sort of pop culture reference, but this part of the story did expand my understanding of what a coven has the potential to represent for different people.
• It took me a bit to realize Kim attends a religious school. Why did the Tamaki sisters choose this setting? I do not know much about the experiences of nikkei students at religious schools, but I plan to look into works by nikkei scholars on this subject.

Questions I had:

• How do the Tamaki sisters situate themselves and their work in the broader landscape of nikkei art and literature? What would each of them have to say regarding the concept of ‘nikkei literature’ or ‘nikkei art?’
• Did the Tamaki sisters envision a particular audience for this book? Do they have differing opinions on the ideal audience? If so, why?

Follow-up:

• I know I have other works by Mariko and Jillian Tamaki in my TBR somewhere, which I look forward to reading once I find them.

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The Peanutbutter Sisters and Other American Stories, written and illustrated by Rumi Hara, is a graphic novel collection of short stories/comics set in strange, unsettling, and dreamlike fantasylands.

What I liked:

• Hara’s work is utterly different from the work of graphic novelists like Kiku Hughes (Displacement) or Harmony Becker (Himawari House), yet no less “Japanese,” if we define a Japanese work as one created by a Japanese person. It would be fascinating to read a roundtable discussion or essay collection by nikkei graphic novelists, including these three creators, concerning their thoughts on what constitutes Japanese and/or nikkei art. For my part, I appreciate Hara’s quirky and unique work, even if her aesthetic is not quite my preference, simply because her style and subject matter expand the concept of “nikkei” art and literature in US mainstream publishing.
• The blurb on the back of the book (I read the paperback edition) by Malaka Gharib references women as the focal point of this work. I do not know if this is true to Hara’s intent, but the comment made me ponder in what ways the reader is encouraged to think about women as the book progresses. For example, the Peanutbutter sisters use their own selfie as the profile photo for their Ebay site, which is even remarked upon by the harasser who picks them up on the road. Although the race/ethnicity of the sisters is never mentioned, I chose to interpret them as Asian (I do wonder if their race/ethnicity is never specified in order to facilitate the reader’s ability to superimpose her own identity on the sisters and thus potentially expand opportunities for a wide range of readers to relate to them), and based on this assumption, read this particular story while thinking about what it means to be Asian and a woman in the US. The sisters are frequently depicted wearing bikinis, tank tops, and shorts, clothing that made me concerned for their safety when they were around other people. Of course, people of any gender should be able to wear what they want without fearing repercussions, but unfortunately current society often makes this an unsafe choice. I am curious about Hara’s thoughts on this topic – if not Asian women in the US, then women in general in the US, and their safety or lack thereof. Other comics, such as the Bombadonnas, seem to highlight the devil-may-care strength of women, in what I read as a reimagining, as well as a pointed response to/rejection of/writing back against gender inequality.

What I learned:

• I started to consider this when I read Nori, but it really hit home with The Peanutbutter Sisters – how might we understand the ways in which artists utilize a “weird” aesthetic (in this context, I envision “weird” as synonymous with words like, unsettling, disturbing, dreamlike, nonsensical, drug-induced, creepy, etc.) as a framework for conveying deeper messages, particularly social commentary?

Questions I had:

• I suspect I would have a better understanding of this if I knew Hara personally, but what was her rationale in putting the term “American” in her book title? From reading The Peanutbutter Sisters, I could not quite tell if Hara’s approach to social justice and social awareness is rooted in the “Asians are American” mindset, which reinforces rather than challenges the role of nonwhite settlers in US settler colonialism, or if she went a step further and is actually using “American” as a tongue-in-cheek reference to this type of activism.
• Does Hara have an intended audience for this book? What was her primary motivation in creating this book?
• What is the meaning of the white rabbits/bunnies? Are they a reference (Alice in Wonderland, anyone?) or merely another tool Hara utilizes to help create her desired atmosphere?
• What does it mean to be nikkei in New York? What sort of nikkei communities and spaces exist in New York and/or the East Coast? Is the character of Tammy Tabata intended to reflect or connect to these communities and spaces?

Follow-up:

• Although I preferred Hara’s first book, Nori (read my post here) to The Peanutbutter Sisters, I will be keeping an eye out for Hara’s future work. In particular, I would be interested to see Hara create a full-length science fiction graphic novel, maybe along the lines of Jonathan Hill’s Odessa, possibly an expansion of the short comic “Living Things.”