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.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Wat Kept Playing, by Emily Inouye Huey, tells the story of Wataru Misaka, the first person of color to play in the NBA.

What I liked:

• The more I read ‘designed to inspire kids of color’ books by authors of color, the more I wonder how these books are shaping the experiences of today’s kids. I don’t remember all that many books in English, featuring Japanese Americans, from my own childhood, but since I was surrounded by so much media direct from Japan, I don’t know if I ever really registered the lack of representation of people who looked like me in US media. I’m glad that, for today’s nikkei kids, this will probably not be an issue, as there are so many nikkei authors working in the US children’s market right now (and more to come, I’m sure!).
• Is there a Japanese edition of this book, or any plans to publish one? I feel like this story might be interesting to kids in Japan – though, as I say this, I wonder if a story about Japanese Americans (or nikkei of other backgrounds) playing MLB would do even better (and I wouldn’t be surprised if books like this already exist in the Japanese market – conversely, I can only imagine the sheer number of books about players like Ohtani). It would be interesting to do some sort of analysis around sports-themed literature in the Japanese children’s market by both nihonjin and nikkei authors, including picture books, manga, graphic novels, and children’s novels. I feel like sports manga is going strong right now and it would be interesting to try to identify the underlying reasons for this trend.

What I learned:

• I’m no sports aficionado, but I really enjoyed learning about Misaka’s life and experiences. It never occurred to me to think about who the first person of color to play in the NBA might be and it’s pretty awesome to know they were Japanese.

Questions I had:

• I feel like I saw ads for another picture about Misaka, by a non-Japanese author, around the same time as I was seeing publicity for Huey’s book. I suppose it must be a coincidence, but it was nevertheless odd. I also sometimes see YA novels by white authors with eerily similar covers and/or plots to YA novels by authors of color and I assume this is not always totally coincidental, but I also don’t know if this is simply a wider phenomenon of authors writing to trends (or being encouraged to write to trends?) or yet another example of white authors trying to profit off things that authors of color accomplished first. To be clear, I don’t know the race of the author who wrote the other book about Misaka, but I’m fairly certain they are not Japanese.

Follow-up:

• I have Huey’s YA novel on my TBR list…or possibly already in my physical TBR…

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Shima is a book of poetry by Sho Yamagushiku.

What I liked:

• One of my favorite parts of reading poetry, especially poetry by poets of color, is the sense that I’m catching a glimpse of how they experience the world through their words. (The poet Chen Chen is exceedingly good at this – he brings to the forefront things that I also constantly notice, but didn’t really notice I noticed until he said it, which is one of my favorite feelings ever.) I got this same feeling from Yamagushiku’s work, though I also think we experience the world very differently – not in a bad way, but in a this-nikkei-experience-is-very-different-from-my-nikkei-experience kind of way. On a related note, I’m not sure how Yamagushiku would identify relative to any ‘nikkei’ experience – my Okinawan/Uchinaanchu diaspora friends also identify as Japanese, nikkei, Japanese American, etc., but I recognize this will not necessarily be the case for everyone in this group.
• I really enjoyed the cover of Shima. I feel there are so many possible interpretations to the seemingly simple image – three figures carrying what appears to be a boat, for anyone who is not familiar with the cover – and it’s interesting to consider how each interpretation might tie in to a different aspect of Yamagushiku’s poems.
• I’m still not entirely sure of the meaning of the phrase ‘contains multitudes’ but I feel that my own current understanding of this phrase was embodied in this book, particularly in how Yamagushiku appears to embrace expansive, fluid, but also at times pointedly specific (and also pointed) understandings of (Okinawan? Uchinaanchu? Japanese? Nikkei?) identity.

What I learned:

• I hope a nikkei scholar writes an analysis of Yamagushiku’s work in relation to contemporary works by other nikkei poets. I don’t know what the findings would be, but that’s why I hope someone writes one.

Questions I had:

• What is Yamagushiku working on next? What are his main objectives as a poet? What does he hope readers will experience through his work?

Follow-up:

• I’ll have to check if Yamagushiku has written any essays or articles along the lines of the content of Shima – I’d like to know how his longform writing reads.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Numamushi, by Mina Ikemoto Ghosh, follows Numamushi as he learns the meaning of family.

What I liked:

• I had this book for I don’t know how long in my TBR and I’m upset that I waited so long to read it because I absolutely loved it. In many ways, I think this is the English-language work by a nikkei author that reminds me most strongly of the Japanese stories I grew up with and the ones I continue to read (I think I’ve said this about other works on this blog – it’s not that I’ve forgotten, but rather that the target keeps moving, which I think is a good thing).
• Ghosh’s illustrations are so interesting and I’m really glad they form part of the story. While the visuals for the story in my head look very different, I always enjoy seeing how an author represents their own work.
• The name choice of Numamushi, as well as the explanation for the name given in the story, struck me as very Japanese. I’ve been reading 光が死んだ夏 and I got a very similar vibe from Ghosh’s work, though a lot less terrifying. For my fellow nikkei who have ever looked around in the quietいなか in Japan and wondered what might be out there or what has been out there or who might be watching and waiting, and shivered a little in both fear and anticipation of the stories to come, raise your hand!

What I learned:

• Snakes have never been a particular interest of mine, but I enjoyed how Ghosh represented them in the story, even if I don’t know enough snake lore to distinguish existing stories from Ghosh’s inventions.

Questions I had:

• I read this story primarily as a historical fantasy, a la Silver in the Wood, by Emily Tesh, but I’d be curious to know if this is what Ghosh intended. For example, I didn’t necessarily interpret the story as a commentary on or metaphor for the aftermath of the war for Japanese people, but I do think this would be a valid and not far-fetched interpretation. On a related note, is the discarded candy tin a nod to 火垂るの墓? It would be interesting to hold a nikkei roundtable about how we as creators choose, or not, to reference Japanese works that are well-known outside Japan in our own work. For myself, as many of these works occupied a prominent place in my childhood, long before they were widely known to non-Japanese people (Studio Ghibli with no subtitles on VHS, am I right, fellow shin-[insert generation here] nikkei millennials?), if I did include any such references, I would be doing so to pay homage to the Japanese creators and their massive influence on both Japanese popular culture and my own burgeoning understanding of creative storytelling at the time, not as any kind of signal to non-Japanese audiences.

Follow-up:

• If Ghosh ever decides to write a sequel, I am so there!

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Village in the Dark, by Iris Yamashita, continues the adventures of Detective Cara Kennedy as she attempts to piece together the true fate of her missing husband and son.

What I liked:

• Yamashita’s novels are so interesting – I didn’t feel a particular connection to any of the characters in Village in the Dark, which is usually what keeps me turning the pages, but somehow I basically read it in two sittings. I suspect the short chapters and very readable writing style have a lot to do with it. Maybe this is what comes of having a screenwriting career before a novelist career?
• Are there really so many Japanese people in Alaska? I find Mariko’s character so funny and spot-on, and reminiscent of the type of persona I would expect to find in a Japanese novel. I’d love to know where Yamashita got inspiration for her.
• I appreciate Yamashita drawing clear distinctions between Japanese and Ainu people, though I’m curious about how common Ainu people actually are in Alaska. I hadn’t previously considered interactions between Ainu people and indigenous people from other parts of the world, so it was interesting to read the relationships Yamashita constructed between Ayai, Mia, and the indigenous and non-indigenous residents of Unity.

What I learned:

• I recently read Moon of the Crusted Snow, by Waubgeshig Rice – an indigenous-centered novel by an indigenous writer, for those who are unaware – and feel that I observe a significant gap in representation between Rice’s depiction of indigenous characters and cultures and Yamashita’s depiction. However, being non-indigenous, I’m cognizant that this is merely an observation on my part with no actual lived experience to back it up. How would Rice and Yamashita, respectively, describe the key tenets of writing outside your experience?

Questions I had:

• How do indigenous readers from Alaska feel about Yamashita’s portrayal of indigenous characters and cultures? Do they feel Yamashita’s approach is respectful?
• Did Yamashita make any changes to her research process for the indigenous content in Village in the Dark compared with her process for City Under One Roof? Did her indigenous sensitivity readers, consultants, etc. recommend or observe any improvements to her approach with this second novel?
• How do Ainu readers feel about the portrayal of Ayai and Mia? Do they agree with Yamashita’s representation choices? What are the implications of nihonjin or nikkei writers depicting Ainu characters and culture?
• I had this question with Yamashita’s first novel, but how, indeed, does a nikkei writer working in Hollywood land on a remote and unique community in Alaska and a not-insignificant amount of indigenous representation as the premise for a novel? Does the indigenous representation in Yamashita’s novels actually benefit Alaska’s indigenous communities in any way? Perhaps that is one key factor in writing outside your experience – if it does not benefit the communities being depicted in a meaningful way, is it a clear sign not to do it, particularly if the communities in question are marginalized in one or more ways? Yamashita’s author’s note references the Alaska Native Women’s Resource Center, but I’m not sure if reading Yamashita’s books would necessarily motivate the majority of readers to donate to AKNWRC or to other indigenous-run organizations.

Follow-up:

• Are we done with Cara now? I liked the (more or less) happy ending for Cara, but I would also enjoy reading another novel set in this world.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

The Fisher Boy, written by Debbi Michiko Florence and illustrated by Sachiko Yoshikawa, is a young readers’ graphic novel adaptation of Urashima Tarō.

What I liked:

• This is one of those books for which my impression significantly varies depending on what type of nikkei audience I envision reading it. If I think of readers like me, who grew up surrounded by books in both Japanese and English, and who likely experienced most Japanese stories in Japanese before ever (if ever) encountering them in any other language, I am, to be perfectly honest, disappointed in this version. To be clear, I don’t believe any fault lies with Florence or Yoshikawa. I experience a similar disappointment/sense of falling short almost every time I experience a Japanese story (meaning, a story originally told in Japanese) in a language other than Japanese (don’t let’s get started on dubbed Miyazaki films or manga translated into English). At the same time, I recognize that, for nikkei who may be unable to experience a Japanese story in Japanese, particularly for those who are unable to listen to, read, or otherwise learn Japanese due to a disability, it is important to make our stories accessible, and I’d like to think The Fisher Boy might make Urashima Tarō accessible to nikkei readers who would otherwise not be able to experience it. Additionally, as longtime readers of this blog are likely aware, I would absolutely always rather see a Japanese author (and illustrator!) tackle a translation or re-adaptation of a Japanese story over anyone else (don’t let’s get started on the extent to which white people have dominated and ‘presented’ Japan to people outside Japan, or the extent to which these ‘presentations’ have, unfortunately, shaped non-Japanese POC ‘presentations’ of Japan to people outside Japan – decolonize does not mean weebs are ok if they are people of color).
• Yoshikawa’s soft, bright, and vibrant palette was so much fun to experience on every page and perfectly filled in the gaps (there are remarkably few words in this book, as befits a comic or graphic novel, but I found this particularly noticeable because the book itself is so short) – I hope – for readers new to Urashima Tarō.

What I learned:

• I don’t remember ever seeing instructions in a book on how to read that book, but I appreciate the step-by-step at the beginning of this book on how to read and interpret panels. These instructions are great not only for young readers who are new to the US comic/graphic novel format, but also for readers who may need additional guidance in order to fully experience this book, including readers with disabilities and/or readers who are unfamiliar with US comics.

Questions I had:

• How did Florence approach this project in terms of translation? First, in terms of how to reshape the original Japanese text into English, and second, in terms of how to condense this reshaped text into comic/graphic novel length and format.
• How did fellow nikkei readers feel about this book? Did they find it to be in line with their personal definitions of Japaneseness? For me, not so much – I would say my overall ‘feeling’ of reading this book was very similar to how I feel about Avatar: The Last Airbender, in the sense that the story is solid and entertaining and ‘wears’ a non-western aesthetic, but at its core feels like a western product created for western audiences. Not necessarily a ‘bad’ feeling, but not at all in alignment with what typically makes me feel something is Japanese.
• Along the same lines, is this book a ‘nikkei’ book? Or rather, how does this book fit into the existing body of nikkei literature? How does this book expand or reframe or challenge the qualities that have ‘defined’ nikkei literature up to this point? How might we, as nikkei readers and the nikkei community at large, approach this book in conversation with other US comics or graphic novels produced by nikkei creators?

Follow-up: