To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Tokyo Night Parade, written by J.P. Takahashi and illustrated by Minako Tomigahara, follows the adventures of Eka and her yōkai friends during one magical night in Tokyo.

What I liked:

• Tomigahara’s soft, bright illustrations reminded me of The Dam Keeper, created by Daisuke Tsutsumi and Robert Kondo at Tonko House. I’ve always felt this style of art evokes an atmosphere that is both specifically Japanese and representative of a very particular subgenre of fantasy. I would be interested in looking at other contemporary fantasy picture books being produced in Japan to see how my theory might evolve; note to my future self.

What I learned:

• I feel like I recently saw 百鬼夜行 referenced in a manga I was reading, but I can’t recall the exact context. I don’t remember it ever coming up in my own childhood and in fact feel like I’ve seen more references to it in a nikkei context in the last few years than anywhere else. It’s interesting to see multiple nikkei authors putting their own spin on yōkai stories and I hope to see more examples. At the same time, I wonder how effectively, so to speak, the significance or creativity behind each of these instances will be communicated to non-Japanese audiences, or even certain nikkei audiences, who may not have a great deal of context in which to understand these stories. This is not to say it’s the responsibility of nikkei authors producing yōkai stories to provide this context, but rather, to express my own curiosity about how each of these authors is situating their own work, explicitly or implicitly, within their own interpretation of this context. I also hope 百鬼夜行 doesn’t become the next hot topic for white authors or other non-Japanese authors who think it’s ok to commoditize someone else’s culture.

Questions I had:

• The experience of reading this picture book really made me stop and think about the significance of language in telling certain stories. To fellow bilingual nikkei readers out there – did any of you also wish for a Japanese version of this story? This may be a very personal preference, but I found that anytime certain English verbs popped up in the story, such as “hoot” or “screech,” I was knocked out of the flow of the story because the cultural context I personally associate with these types of words is completely removed from my own experience of Japanese stories. I realize expressive verbs like these are the bread and butter of many USian picture books, but I wonder if Takahashi also wrestled with this tension while writing the story. In a way, I would liken my experience of reading Tokyo Night Parade to the feeling I get whenever I run across a snippet of manga that has been translated into English; a startling disassociation and sense of, ‘something is off here.’ To reiterate, this is merely a description of my personal experience with this book, not a judgment on Takahashi’s word choice. On a side note, does Takahashi have any plans to write a Japanese version of this story? I did not find any references to her language ability, but if she spent time with her Japanese grandparents in Tokyo, I would imagine she could write a picture book in Japanese.
• How did Black/Japanese (Black/nikkei?) readers respond to this story? Did they identify at all with Eka?
• Did Takahashi envision a particular audience for this story? How would Takahashi situate her work in the context of nikkei literature? What are her thoughts about the state of nikkei literature in the US today?

Follow-up:

• I’m looking forward to Takahashi’s next work!

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Roaming is a graphic novel by Jillian Tamaki and Mariko Tamaki, chronicling the adventures of three college students in New York City during spring break.

What I liked:

• I have never been to New York and it was a lot of fun touring the city vicariously through the eyes of the characters in Roaming.
• The soft and fluid lines of the drawings, as well as the subdued palette, made the visual experience of this book an extremely comforting and oddly nostalgic one, even though I have little in common with the people and places depicted. At the same time, shifts in mood were instantly evident, bringing an emotional immediacy to scenes where tensions ran high. I was reminded of R. Kikuo Johnson’s work. It would be fascinating to read a nikkei-authored scholarly comparison of his work with that of the Tamaki cousins.
• Although I can’t say I know any nikkei, young or otherwise, who are similar to Zoe, I hope the representation of her personality, behavior, and dreams on the page provide encouragement and support to any nikkei in need of someone to say, “this is another way to be nikkei and it’s ok, it’s just as good as any other way.” It’s somewhat surreal to see such a body of nikkei-authored, young adult/new adult literature featuring nikkei MCs popping up in the last several years, when there were very few options just a decade ago. I’m glad the nikkei youth of today have access to these options if they are looking for them.

What I learned:

• If indeed this story is a faithful representation of being a first-time tourist in New York, I think it cemented my determination to only ever visit New York if I already know someone there who can show me around.

Questions I had:

• I’m curious about the romanization of Zoe’s name. Kitigawa, specifically “Kiti” and even more specifically “ti” is not a sound typically expressed in Japanese except when pronouncing a non-Japanese word. I suspect “Kitigawa” is some version of the name Kitagawa. Is this a Canadian variant? A mistake by an immigration official? Or a choice made by the family themselves? I’ve heard some interesting stories about how immigrants choose to write their names in English, a phenomenon that is not exclusive to Japanese people.
• Is Fiona white? At one point, she describes her family roots as “American,” which I interpreted in line with the way many white people in the US self-identify, but before that I had a few moments where I wondered if she was Asian with bleached hair.
• How do the relationships in this story turn out? Do Zoe and Fiona start dating? What happens to Dani? At the point where the story ended, I felt kind of bad for Dani because she seemed to end up on the ‘outside’ even with the tension between Zoe and Fiona. I hope things work out for her.

Follow-up:

• I’m not sure what the Tamaki cousins will publish next, but I’m excited to find out!

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

City Under One Roof, by Iris Yamashita, follows police detective Cara Kennedy as she investigates a murder in a unique Alaska community.

What I liked:

• So I definitely looked up Whittier, Alaska because the living situation at Point Mettier was unlike anything I had ever come across. In hindsight, it makes sense, given the environment and especially the weather conditions. It never occurred to me that undocumented people like Amy and her mom might live somewhere like Point Mettier, but I hope all of these people find safety wherever they choose to reside.
• I’m not sure how much crossover exists between film writing and novel writing, but Yamashita certainly knows how to pen a page-turner. It only took me a few days to read this book and I never hit a point where I got too bored and had to put it down.

What I learned:

• Are there a lot of settlers and/or non-indigenous folks (from what I understand, certain non-indigenous folks are not necessarily viewed in the same light as settlers, such as refugees or the descendants of enslaved people) who move to indigenous communities to escape the law? Intermarriage is one thing, if it grows out of a genuine relationship rather than coercion or lack of other choices, but Yamashita’s depiction of the role Wolf and his gang occupy in the Chugach village seems no different from the reason certain Europeans came to this continent originally. I’ll have to look for indigenous-authored scholarship on this topic.

Questions I had:

• What type of research did Yamashita do for this book, specifically with regard to depicting the indigenous peoples and cultures of Alaska? How have indigenous readers responded to this book?
• Why did Yamashita choose to set her book in Alaska? Does she have a personal connection to the people, cultures, or locations?
• Cara is described as mixed race – Asian, indigenous (Native), and white – but no additional details are provided about her ancestry. I wonder if this is because being mixed race is common enough to be unremarkable in Alaska, and Yamashita was adhering to cultural norms, or if there was any editorial pressure with regard to portraying a main character of color. I’ve noticed a trend in some mysteries and thrillers by writers of color in which, even if the MC is a person of color, they are virtually indistinguishable on the page from a white MC. I don’t know if these portrayals stem from the writers’ own experiences or from a desire to depict people of color as “no different” from white people or if they are shaped by publisher expectations.
• What has been Yamashita’s experience as a woman of color, perhaps even specifically as a Japanese/nikkei woman, in the film writing world? What would she have to say about the role of nikkei creators in the US entertainment industry? How does she situate herself and her work in the context of US nikkei literature?

Follow-up:

• I have book two on order and I’m interested to see what Yamashita writes next!

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Body of Empire, by Mariko Nagai, recounts the experiences of women in war with a focus on Japanese women, specifically nihonjin women, in the context of the Pacific War/World War II.

What I liked:

• Coincidentally, I once considered writing my undergraduate thesis on the experiences of Asian women in the American West, specifically Japanese women, and even more specifically, Japanese women doing sex work. Nagai’s work appears to have been published after I graduated, but I very much wish I would have had access to this book at the time, not only as a research source, but also as an example of the type of scholarly research being conducted by a fellow Japanese woman. I attended a very white college with a very white faculty – I believe they are slowly improving, emphasis on slowly – and was quite frankly discouraged from pursuing a major related to anything Asian because the chairs of all the Asian-related departments (including languages!) were white men. I often wonder what would have happened if I had chosen to attend the other school in my top two, a much larger university with a correspondingly larger number of faculty and students of color. Ah well, spilled milk and all that. Anyway, all this to say, I really appreciate Nagai researching and writing this book. I imagine some of the sources were difficult to work through, to say the least, and I admire her for presenting the final project in such a straightforward and unembellished manner.
• The postwar photographs of nihonjin women and US soldiers felt like such an important piece of documentation to include in this book. I think particularly of the photographs where the nihonjin women – women who look like me, who could be my family members – are smiling as white soldiers physically wrest them into certain positions or appear to be pressuring them to look a certain way. Any Japanese person who has ever witnessed nihonjin interact with white people, white Americans, in a situation that might have resulted in a conflict if the other party was not nihonjin, likely knows what I’m talking about. I even hear from non-Japanese POC USians how ‘Japanese people are so nice’ and so on, and I often marvel at the depth of the white default mentality behind this attitude.
• Nagai’s juxtaposition of testimony from women survivors and ex-soldiers (should they also be considered survivors in the same breath?) emphasizes the mental aspect of people’s wartime experiences. Although I have read several works highlighting the horrors experienced by women in the war, I’m far less familiar with the firsthand experiences of nihonjin soldiers. This may perhaps represent an (un)conscious desire on my part to avoid digging too deeply into the nihonjin side of wartime experiences (as opposed to nikkei wartime experiences, which blog readers know is a major focal point for me). I had not previously considered what it takes for humans to act in the ways nihonjin soldiers acted during the war. I had not thought about the role of dehumanization in creating a soldier or what the psychological profile of a nihonjin soldier might look like. None of this excuses how nihonjin soldiers treated other humans during the war. I am grateful to Nagai for providing a diversity of soldiers’ perspectives, to remind readers to look beyond the basic assumption that all nihonjin soldiers did what they did out of unquestioning loyalty to the empire.

What I learned:

• Reading this book made me think about the gaps in my own family history. My mother’s parents would have lived through the war in Japan; I wonder how their lives intersected with the human trafficking happening at the time. Some of my aunts would have been young children in the immediate postwar period – what were they told about staying safe around the occupying troops? What kinds of impressions of the US did my grandparents and their children develop during and after the war? I hope I remember to ask the next time I visit.

Questions I had:

• Is there a Japanese edition of this book? If so, did Nagai write it herself? I’m not familiar with the politics and practices of academic translation in Japan, but I think of, for example, the potential differences between translations by a nihonjin woman versus a nihonjin man.
• Is this book widely available? I actually searched online for the publisher and bought directly from them and did not check Amazon or any other major retailer, but I certainly hope, for the future of nikkei, Japanese, and World War II studies, that this book is not only easily available to students and rising academics, but also included on the syllabus of any course focused on human experiences during World War II.
• Have any women survivors of the war read this book? If so, what was their reaction?
• Did Nagai envision a particular audience for this book? Did she envision a particular reaction to this book?
• How are the stories of today’s women in today’s wars being told? For example, I noticed the primetime news provided deep coverage of the experiences of Ukrainian people in the immediate aftermath of the Russian invasion, but rarely comments on the military situations in Africa or Latin America.

Follow-up:

• I look forward to Nagai’s next academic work.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Barn Cat, by Kyoko Mori, follows Yuri (aka Lily) as she attempts to locate her mother.

What I liked:

• Although I’m familiar with people renaming themselves using one language’s equivalent of their name in their original language, I found “Lily” a somewhat amusing choice because it consists of sounds that would probably be difficult for most nihonjin to pronounce if they are unaccustomed to speaking English. Then again, Yuri indicates Kumiko studied English at a designated school in Japan, so perhaps Kumiko felt comfortable with a name like “Lily” by the time she moved to the US.
• I have not looked up Mori’s biography recently – I know I did in the past, but I no longer recall the details – but the plot, tone, and themes of Barn Cat struck me as very personal, perhaps even autobiographical. This may just be my perspective as someone who prefers to write fantasy, but the extremely specific depictions of Yuri’s experiences as a young child moving from Japan to the US, including the choice of year/era, seem to me to tell a story that would be difficult to craft without the author having lived part of it herself. I hope I’m not succumbing to the stereotype of assuming all authors of color are writing autobiographical stories if they write about their own cultures in a quasi-contemporary setting, but as I did not feel this way when I read, for example, Debbi Michiko Florence’s books (though I do expect Florence’s personal knowledge and experiences of nikkei culture inform her work), I wonder if my theory is at least somewhat accurate.
• Major kudos to Yuri for being so forthright in her reason for leaving Sam. I’m not sure if this part of the story is a commentary on men in general or white men in particular, but I’ve witnessed more than one uncomfortable, racism-infused relationship between white men and nihonjin women, and it’s something that’s always in the back of my mind when I meet any nihonjin woman/white man couple. It would be interesting to read a joint nihonjin/nikkei scholarly analysis on the dynamics of these relationships, in particular how the interaction between nihonjin cultural values/social norms and white cultural values/social norms shape the experiences of the nihonjin women in these relationships.
• My mother is shin-issei like Kumiko, though my dad is nikkei (nisei, sansei, depending on which of my grandparents is in question), but my life experiences are so utterly distant from Yuri’s experiences that I still felt in many ways as if I was “outside, looking in” while reading Barn Cat. This is not a negative thing, per se, but rather a refreshing reminder of our diverse nikkei community.

What I learned:

• In my personal experience, nikkei with at least one shin-issei parent tend to have closer ties to Japanese culture than nikkei who do not have shin-issei parents, which often also includes active relationships with nihonjin relatives. I’ve never considered a situation like Yuri’s, in which, in spite of being shin-issei herself, her family circumstances in Japan meant she had zero connections there after moving to the US. This is a fascinating angle on nikkei history, as I believe nikkei (specifically JA) history is often contextualized in terms of WWII, with gaps in family knowledge and/or connections often attributed to ancestors being far removed from Japan. I see some interesting opportunities for nihonjin/nikkei collaboration with regard to this topic and I also think nihonjin university exchange students might have useful insights to share, perhaps even with the members of their local nikkei student union.

Questions I had:

• Did Mori envision a particular audience for this book? Did she have any expectations or desires for how nihonjin and/or nikkei readers would respond to this book?
• How have fellow nikkei readers responded to this book?

Follow-up:

• I have several of Mori’s books in my TBR somewhere – after reading Barn Cat, I’m feeling much more motivated to locate them!
• It would be really interesting if a nikkei team put together a film based on Barn Cat, because it illuminates an aspect of shin-issei experiences that I do not often see in the work of today’s rising nikkei writers.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Kimiko Does Cancer is a graphic memoir recounting Kimiko Tobimatsu’s experiences before, during, and after her breast cancer diagnosis.

What I liked:

• I very much appreciate Tobimatsu’s clear, straightforward tone and style. As an attorney, I imagine she could have made the choice to write a dense, jargon-filled account of her experiences, even a full-length memoir instead of a graphic novel, but I found this format much more accessible and I hope this is true for other readers as well. Tobimatsu strikes me as someone who would value the accessibility of her work to a wide audience.
• The anecdote about Tobimatsu redirecting cancer donations to what appears to be support for migrants was both funny and illuminating. On a broader note, I’ve often wondered about the intersections of race and medical care on the patient side, especially for Asian patients identifying and/or receiving care as women/female/femmes. I appreciate Tobimatsu self-identifying her own position of privilege with regard to being able to afford medical care and advocating for herself. As a person who worries about both of these things, I find it inspiring and reassuring to hear a fellow nikkei person (whose interpersonal experience with the healthcare system would probably be similar to mine) state these facts.

What I learned:

• Although I know several people who have had cancer, I’ve never spoken at length with any of them about their experiences. After reading about the mental and emotional toll on Kimiko of fielding other people’s responses to her health, I’m somewhat relieved I never asked the questions I sometimes wondered if I should ask, and I’ll strive to be more conscientious of these situations in the future.

Questions I had:

• Is Tobimatsu involved in any contemporary efforts among young nikkei to chronicle nikkei history and/or situate nikkei experiences in the context of movements led by other communities of color? It would be interesting to hear her thoughts on these topics, particularly in a roundtable of young nikkei writers.

Follow-up:

• Does Tobimatsu have plans to write additional books? I felt a strong connection to the principles and values expressed by the persona she assumes in Kimiko Does Cancer, and I would enjoy getting to know her (vicariously) through more of her writing.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Foreign Bodies is a collection of poems about family, by Kimiko Hahn.

What I liked:

• Although I try to make a point of doing minimal research about an author before my first time reading their work, in Hahn’s case, I wonder if a bit of extra background would have helped. I found her poems quite readable (from my not-a-poet’s perspective) but spent the entire book feeling as if I was missing significant chunks from some larger picture or message or theme. Regardless, the intimate nature of the poems, coupled with the distant-yet-simultaneously-present voice, made for a thought-provoking but not uncomfortably emotional read.
• As indicated above, I don’t believe I grasped enough of the context of Hahn’s poems to recognize much wordplay during the reading of them, but after reading her end notes, I felt a deep connection with Hahn’s thoughts on wordplay, including wordplay between languages, translation, and what it all means specifically for nikkei writers. Hahn’s translation comparisons included what appear to be white translators and I’m curious about her thoughts regarding the power dynamics of white people translating writers of color, particularly Japanese writers, in light of the role white people have historically played in attempting to “convey” Japanese culture to people outside Japan. My personal view on this matter is, of course, STOP IMMEDIATELY, but I’m always interested in what other nikkei writers think.

What I learned:

• I’ve learned many interesting and important ways of thinking from poets, mostly via social media, but given that poetry, as far as I know, is in general read less widely than, say, novels, I’m curious what poet-teachers like Hahn tell their students with regard to the purpose or goal or mentality to cultivate as a published (or aspiring-to-be-published) poet, for those students who might ask such questions. This is not to say by any means that publication is or should be the end goal for poets or for any writers, but rather me wondering how poet-teachers, including Hahn, who seems highly conscious of her instructor role, approach this topic. I’ve also recently become aware of many activist poets of color and I’m wondering what Hahn would say about the intersections of activism and poetry among writers of color.

Questions I had:

• Has Hahn ever published any of her poems in Japanese? Or, perhaps, either written or translated one of her poems in(to) Japanese and then (re)translated that same poem into English? I admit, I’ve considered this a few times with regard to my own work, though it seems a monumental undertaking with a novel. Maybe one day, if I can ever afford to retire, it will be a passion project.

Follow-up:

• I’m going to check if Hahn has published any books of essays. After reading her notes at the end, I’m rather more curious about her longform thoughts on translation, language, and nikkei identity than about her poems.

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.