To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

The Immortal Rules, by Julie Kagawa, follows the journey of human-turned-vampire Allison Sekemoto as she navigates a grim world of shifting goals and alliances.

What I liked:

• Those who follow me online know my TBR growth vastly outpaces my actual reading speed. Case in point, I’m not entirely sure how many years ago I purchased The Immortal Rules before I found it in a pile the other day. Regardless, it was definitely in the right place at the right time, because I had no idea I was in the mood for post-apocalyptic vampire/zombie stories until I started reading and couldn’t stop. Major kudos to Kagawa for creating a plot and characters so compelling I forgot I picked up this book on a whim.
• Although I enjoy a rollercoaster plot as much as the next reader, characters definitely tend to stay with me longer than their storylines. In this case, I really appreciated and admired Allison. She is unquestionably courageous, but also frequently conflicted and angry, and these emotions grounded her as a real, relatable person. Zeke strikes me as a bit too good to be true, but I do think his personality is an effective counterpart to Allison’s constant struggle with her vampire/monster self.

What I learned:

• As I read this book, I found myself thinking about what constitutes ‘commercial’ YA versus YA that is not deemed commercial. To be clear, I really enjoyed The Immortal Rules, but at the same time, I’m not entirely sure it contained any unique points, anything that made me think, ‘wow, I haven’t seen that before.’ Instead, the book felt like a combination of sellable elements neatly packaged with the goal of putting it on a bestseller list. I’m certainly not suggesting this is a flaw on Kagawa’s part as a writer, because I suspect the choices made in creating this book were very deliberate, but I would be curious to know how Kagawa feels about her own work. Would she agree that this book is ‘commercial’ or would she say otherwise? What are Kagawa’s priorities as a writer? Does she write to the market in order to generate income, or does she prioritize other factors? Again, this is not intended to be a critique of Kagawa’s motives; some writers depend on the income generated by their books, while others do not, and I personally do not believe writers in one category are superior or inferior to writers in the other.

Questions I had:

• Is Allison meant to be nikkei? As far as I saw, the word ‘Japanese’ never appears in the text. Curiously, Jake is identified as a Black man, but most of the other characters are never identified by race. Perhaps this will be answered in the subsequent two books of the series, but I did wonder if Kanin and/or Jackal are people of color, perhaps even Asian. I assumed Zeke is white based on his physical description. Did Kagawa make these decisions about racializing (or not) her characters, or was her editorial team involved? I point this out, not because I felt race was important to the story (as far as I can tell, the human racial dynamics were essentially a nonfactor compared to the human-versus-vampire-versus rabid dynamic), but because I’m not sure if this book provides another example of the white default in US publishing.
• Allison is described as “exotic” once, maybe twice, in the book. If, as I assume, Allison is nikkei, what was Kagawa’s intent with this word choice? Or, again, it might be the editorial team at work.
• Who picked the katana as Allison’s weapon of choice? It seemed a bit cliché to me, but on the other hand, if Kagawa was writing back against Euro-centric, white-centric narratives inspired by western European medieval cultures, I understand why she might have made these choices.
• I have not looked up any interviews with Kagawa, but I know she is a well-established YA author. What are her thoughts on race and representation in literature, particularly in the context of the conversations that have been happening in the last five or six years? How does she situate herself and her work within the existing body of nikkei literature? Specifically, does she have any thoughts on the concept of nikkei YA?

Follow-up:

• I will most definitely be reading the rest of this series! Kagawa’s other books appear considerably different, but I hope to give them a try later on.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Just So Happens, written and illustrated by Fumio Obata, is the story of Yumiko, a London-based designer who returns to Japan upon her father’s death.

What I liked:

• Obata’s art is just fascinating to view. His style, specifically his renderings of characters, objects, and backgrounds, and his use of bold, solid color, feels very “nihonjin with a dash of something,” which may reflect his experiences living outside Japan. Additionally, because so much of the story, including the drawings themselves, seems to be firmly anchored within Yumiko’s perspective (meaning, it felt as if we were intended to be looking through her eyes), the sense of Japanese-but-also-a-bit-off that I experienced while reading the book felt very intentional, as if the entire work was created to embody the experience of being nihonjin-outside-Japan-returning-to-Japan. Although my background is different from Yumiko’s, the push-and-pull emotions of being Japanese outside Japan versus in Japan felt incredibly familiar.
• Another thought-provoking quality I appreciate about Obata’s work is the sketchiness, or deceptive simplicity, of his images. I especially noticed this in his depictions of Japanese settings, where his spare lines and broadly brushed colors create a feeling of place rather than a photographic image. Based on my own experiences in Japan, I recognized many of these places and could call up sensory memories to “fill in the blanks” so to speak, but this experience made me wonder if Obata’s depictions of Japan are meant to mirror Yumiko’s own lifelong familiarity with her birthplace and/or Obata’s own familiarity with his first home. It could also merely be a factor of artistic choice – perhaps Obata renders all of his settings in this style, regardless of personal connection. I wonder about how Obata’s depictions of Japan, and other nihonjin depictions of Japan in the graphic novel medium (in this case, meaning graphic novels as distinct from manga) compare to nikkei depictions of Japan in the same medium. Anyone who has been a tourist or has hosted a tourist probably knows this feeling – as a visitor, one tends to fixate on details which are unseen or unimportant to longtime residents. Would a comparative analysis of graphic novels show more “tourist” details in nikkei depictions of Japan versus nihonjin depictions of Japan? Subject matter would also need to be considered as a factor, of course, since any nikkei creator focusing on being a tourist in Japan would likely produce images heavily skewing toward these “tourist” details. Additionally, personal artistic choice and style, as well as target audience, would also need to be considered. The same question could also be applied to literature. As a writer, I often consider how much detail to include, with my primary considerations being, what is best for the story AND what is best for my target (nikkei) audience.

What I learned:

• Yumiko’s commentary on Noh was fascinating, especially her musings on the relationship between the structured artistry of Noh and the self. I’ve never seen Noh performed and it’s not currently a particular area of interest for me, but my inner art historian is clamoring to research some articles or books by Japanese (nihonjin or nikkei) scholars examining the role of self in Noh. On an academic side note, it would also be interesting to examine varying definitions of “self” as analyzed by nihonjin versus nikkei scholars, and to consider how these definitions shape each scholar’s work on Noh. I’m here for all those complex intersections of academia and diaspora identities!

Questions I had:

• What inspired Obata to create the character of Yumiko? This may be my own bias showing, but I’m often wary of Japanese – specifically nihonjin – men when it comes to gendered media portrayals. To be clear, I had no issues with the way Obata portrays Yumiko in the story, and the depiction of how constrained she felt her career to be in Japan felt consistent with my own observations. Nonetheless, I’m curious to know how nihonjin women, especially those whose life trajectory mirrors Yumiko’s, reacted to her character.

Follow-up:

• From what I can find, Obata’s two other graphic novels both appear to be written by some white dude living in Japan, with Obata illustrating. I sincerely wish western publishing would take a hard look at the racism inherent in this problematic pattern of Japanese writers and artists co-creating Japan-related content with white people, along with the overwhelming whiteness of Japanese-to-English translators. Let’s not set a precedent that Japanese creators “need” a white co-creator in order to get published in mainstream channels. I also wish Japanese (specifically nihonjin) publishers would take a hard look at the extent to which whiteness is privileged in Japan and consider what this implies about colorism and racial preferences in Japanese culture.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Just Be Cool, Jenna Sakai, by Debbi Michiko Florence, follows middle schooler Jenna Sakai as she navigates family problems, scholarship applications, and peer relationships.

What I liked:

• Jenna works hard to expand and develop her thought processes, while never losing sight of who she is, a quality I both admire and can relate to.
• Much like Florence’s previous book, Keep It Together, Keiko Carter (read my post here), Just Be Cool, Jenna Sakai is pleasantly readable, with short chapters, good pacing, and just enough subplots to keep the reader turning the pages. This is exactly the type of story I enjoy reading when taking a break between tedious tasks, and I thank Florence for deepening my appreciation of MG contemporary as a genre.

What I learned:

• Is JANM a destination spot for nikkei living in SoCal? If so, it would be fascinating to read an academic analysis by a nikkei scholar, or perhaps an anthology of nonfiction by SoCal-based nikkei writers – especially young writers – focused on the role JANM plays in the lives and experiences of SoCal-based nikkei individuals and communities.

Questions I had:

• I love milkshakes as much as the next person, but Jenna seems to consume…a lot of them. Same with Rin. By the end of the book, I was definitely starting to worry about the effects on their health, even though they are probably both at the age when kids are relatively free to eat what they want. From a writer’s perspective, milkshakes are probably one of the quirks intended to tie Jenna and Rin together while also cementing Leigh’s diner as a key setting, but I also worry about what young readers will learn from this imagery. I remember emulating my favorite fictional characters when I was in middle school, just to feel closer to my favorite books, and though overindulging in milkshakes was never a danger for me, I could easily see a couple of young readers imitating Jenna and Rin’s weekly diner get-togethers. Is this the type of thing that keeps parents up at night?
• Is Rin’s name being pronounced correctly by most of the people around him? The question of pronunciation never really came up in the book, which I found interesting. I remember going to school with a nikkei student named Rei, but everyone around me, including Rei herself, pronounced her name “ray.” This situation makes me wonder how we, the nikkei community, have (and will continue to) come to terms with historical, cultural, and familial legacies in the face of generationally progressive language loss. For my part, I’m glad to see many nikkei youth in the Bay Area actively engaging with Japanese language and culture.

Follow-up:

• I’m excited for Florence’s next book, Sweet and Sour!

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Shadow of the Batgirl, written by Sarah Kuhn and illustrated by Nicole Goux, chronicles the coming-of-age of Cassandra Cain as she grows into her own person with the support of her friends.

What I liked:            

• I picked up this book on a whim after seeing Kuhn listed as the author, since it seemed like an interesting addition to my Book Spotlight catalogue, and I’m happy to say I don’t regret my choice! I did wonder if Cassandra was Japanese American at first, but in the end I feel her specific ethnicity would not have significantly influenced the story arc. In this sense, I wonder if critical readers of Asian American literature would consider Cassandra a true ‘Asian American’ character, specifically in the way she seems constructed to be relatable to all young Asian Americans. This is separate from a discussion about what, if anything, constitutes an ‘Asian American’ character, since I do have other thoughts about the potentially problematic erasure of culturally specific reference points. On a side note, I’m curious about how much leeway writers like Kuhn have when scripting these graphic novels. I assume the original race and/or ethnicity of a ‘canon’ character cannot be changed, which is perhaps why we see ‘next-gen’ characters like Gene Luen Yang’s ‘New Super-Man.’

What I learned:

• I actually knew nothing about the character of Batgirl, other than a vague sense she might be associated with Batman, prior to reading this book. Since I don’t follow the DC universe with any regularity, after reading the book I still have very little idea of how “Batgirl” fits into the greater superhero network, but I do know I’d be interested in reading more of Cassandra’s adventures if Kuhn plans on writing them.

Questions I had:

• How do these spin-offs (?) come into being? Specifically, I’m curious about all of these recently published young-reader graphic novels set in the DC and Marvel universes, written by (often emerging) authors of color. Although, as mentioned above, I do not follow DC (or Marvel) with enough regularity to have sufficient information to analyze this phenomenon, I’m curious about the response of experienced critics of color who focus on DC and/or Marvel. Are these graphic novels a cop-out to earn diversity points by these mainstream comics publishers, or are they indicative of real changes being made to combat racial inequity in comics? To be clear, I believe every opportunity for a creator of color is a step forward, so long as it is not made at the expense of other people of color, and I’m not seeking to criticize Kuhn or other authors of color who have written these graphic novels.

Follow-up:

• I have a number of Sarah Kuhn’s novels in my TBR…one day, I promise I will get to them.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Love in the Library, written by Maggie Tokuda-Hall and illustrated by Yas Imamura, tells the story of Tama and George, two young nikkei imprisoned at Minidoka who find a way to happiness in the midst of hardship.

What I liked:

• It would be so interesting to listen to a group of intergenerational nikkei discuss Love in the Library in conversation with Displacement, by Kiku Hughes, and They Called Us Enemy, by George Takei. Come to think of it, I may have seen a virtual get-together with a similar theme advertised online somewhere, maybe one of the programs put on by JANM (?), but I think this type of conversation would be especially interesting as part of the interactive programming that occurs during JA pilgrimages, possibly the Manzanar pilgrimage.
• Imamura’s soft color palette sets the mood perfectly, never letting the reader forget we are following a story in a prison camp, but also lighting certain moments and objects, suggesting Tama never loses hope in spite of her struggles. According to the technical information at the front of the book, the illustrations are gouache and watercolor, yet Imamura’s use of line and shape makes people and structures and objects almost look as if they are cut from paper. I do not know if this is typical of Imamura’s style, but in the context of this book, I felt this choice was particularly effective in two ways. One, the majority of the story is set in a library, and libraries are filled with books, which are made of paper, so having a repeated visual reminder of the ‘paper-ness’ of paper helps anchor the reader solidly in the story environment. Two, the paper-like images appear fragile, as if on the verge of being blown away in a gust of wind, reminding the reader the camp experience, while extremely difficult, did eventually end for our nikkei ancestors. Now that I think of it, the idea of paper blowing in the wind also evokes the extreme weather conditions of the desert, which may be an additional way of subliminally drawing the reader into the story’s atmosphere.

What I learned:

• I’m sure I’ve read (or seen) multiple depictions of camp libraries, but Imamura’s illustrations starkly highlight the sparse resources available to nikkei in the camps. I wonder if my grandfather, while imprisoned in Topaz, ever visited their library (I assume Topaz had a library). I have no idea if he read recreationally in English, or if, like my mom, he only read in English when necessary and did all his leisure reading in Japanese.

Questions I had:

• How many nikkei continued with the ‘occupation’ they held in camp, in life after camp? For example, would someone like Tama have pursued work in a library after leaving camp? I’m thinking of the intersections of memory, PTSD, and the very real need to survive in a hostile US, all of which were major factors impacting the lives and experiences of nikkei after camp. Perhaps a different way to approach this question would be to ask, did any nikkei discover their new or future occupation while in camp? I realize this would not have been possible for every field, since opportunities in camp were limited. I have no idea what my grandfather did while imprisoned with his wife and children at Topaz, though I know he ran a laundromat after being released.

Follow-up:

• I would absolutely love to read more collaborations between Tokuda-Hall and Imamura! I’m already somewhat familiar with Tokuda-Hall’s work, but I’m super excited to see what Imamura has in store for us.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Squad, written by Maggie Tokuda-Hall and illustrated by Lisa Sterle, is the story of Becca, a high school student searching for her place in the world.

What I liked:

• Tokuda-Hall expertly depicts characters’ emotions and thought processes. A story like Squad, with a broad fantasy world condensed into a graphic novel script, heavily relies on the reader’s emotional investment in Becca and her friends to be successful. I’m happy to report Tokuda-Hall’s writing sucked me right in, the quietly compelling opening scenes – such as Becca giving Marley a tampon – reminiscent of many of the school story manga I’ve read, with their deceptively restrained but slyly addictive beginnings.

What I learned:

• Piedmont is a real place! I’m not sure if the Piedmont depicted in Squad is based on the actual Piedmont in the East Bay, but that was a bit of a fun fact for me, since, in spite of being a Bay Area kid, I had never heard of Piedmont.

Questions I had:

• Is Becca meant to be nikkei? I read her as such, but I was also conscious of potentially being wrong.
• How much did the plot and cast of Squad evolve from start to finish? Specifically, I’m curious about editorial revisions made with regard to race and/or ethnicity. For example, I read both alphas as being white, but is this correct? If so, what was Tokuda-Hall’s (or her editor’s) reasoning behind this choice? A fascinating discussion about the racialized social dynamics of Bay Area high school cliques could be drawn from this point, but since I’m not sure if my assumptions about the alphas being white are correct, I’ll leave things here for now.
• Does Tokuda-Hall have future works planned in the Squad universe? It would be interesting to delve more deeply into Becca’s family story, as well as her future adventures.
• How do gay nikkei readers feel about the portrayal of Becca and Marley’s relationship? (Note: I do not know if the gay representation is #ownvoices for Tokuda-Hall.)
• How do Black readers feel about Amanda’s portrayal? What made Tokuda-Hall include a Black character in Squad?

Follow-up:

• I need to look up some interviews with Tokuda-Hall. I’m so curious about her overall approach to writing, how she decides what types of stories and genres to write, and how she views her work in relation to work by other nikkei writers.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Shadow Life, written by Hiromi Goto and illustrated by Ann Xu, chronicles the ups and downs of old age in snapshots from the life of senior Kumiko Saito.

What I liked:

• I’ve worked with seniors and I’ve witnessed how dementia, Alzheimer’s, and other diseases drastically affect a person’s day-to-day experiences. Although Kumiko does not appear to have dementia or Alzheimer’s, her disorientation, forgetfulness, and quickness to question her grasp of reality felt incredibly true to life. Her thought processes, particularly the scenes where she secures the vacuum cleaner after trapping Death, encourage empathy rather than contempt, as if Goto is inviting the reader to step into the shoes of senior life as opposed to looking in from the outside.
• Normally, I skim past the author’s note, but Goto’s note is both informative and deeply personal. I appreciate all the topics she touches on, including being inspired by her grandmother and wanting to see and create more nuanced media depictions of older BIPOC women.
• Xu’s illustrations felt perfect for the story. Her use of facial expressions, gestures, and poses to evoke particular moods in each scene was especially effective at capturing the mix of loneliness, nostalgia, anxiety, pain, and love which seemingly form major components of Kumiko’s life.
• Speaking of loneliness, Goto astutely depicts the effects of loneliness and isolation on seniors’ lives. In Kumiko’s case, while she is strong and independent in many ways, and revels in the freedom of setting up her life outside the retirement home, we also see her at moments of intense vulnerability, when she is hit with the realization she cannot manage everything on her own. I think especially of scenes such as her fall on the sidewalk and subsequent rescue by Meena, her growing fear and confusion in her apartment when she cannot remember if she took her medication, and her imprisonment in Death’s cocoon. Throughout her ordeals, Kumiko steadfastly refuses to call upon her daughters for help. There are many reasons seniors refuse to ask their families for help, including fear of losing control of their lives (like Kumiko) or not wanting to be a burden. Sadly, there are also instances when family members are unwilling or unable to provide support to their senior relatives.

What I learned:

• I need to read more about Japanese Canadian experiences during the war. Although it felt perfectly logical for Kumiko to oppose Alice’s enlistment, which calls to mind the no-no boys among US nikkei, Kumiko and Alice’s relationship made me realize I know next to nothing about Japanese Canadian history, other than a vague feeling of it being similar to US nikkei history.

Questions I had:

• How do bi and/or gay nikkei readers feel about the portrayal of Kumiko and Alice’s relationships, as well as each character individually? How might Goto’s work be situated within the existing body of works by nikkei writers in the LGBTQIA+ community? Specifically, are there major generational differences in how bi and/or gay nikkei readers view Kumiko and Alice?
• Is there a Japanese edition of Shadow Life? Kumiko occasionally utters exclamations or phrases in Japanese, which, juxtaposed with her primarily English dialogue, helps to frame her identity as a multilingual nikkei senior. I’m curious about how these moments would be handled by a translator, since simply changing the entire line to Japanese would erase what I consider a rather key component of nikkei identity.

Follow-up:

• I believe I have several of Goto’s books in my TBR, so I’ll have to dig those up and take a look.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Never Open It, by Ken Niimura, is a graphic novel retelling of three old stories from Japan.

What I liked:

• Urashima Taro and Tsuru no Ongaeshi are familiar stories from my childhood, but the story of Ikkyu was new to me. I’m not sure of the original plot of Ikkyu, but I assume Niimura’s twist was to make the entire story a figment of the monk’s imagination, which I found highly entertaining. The twists on Urashima Taro and Tsuru no Ongaeshi felt a bit darker, especially the ending of Tsuru no Ongaeshi. I did feel justice was served with the new ending of Urashima Taro, since the original version never satisfactorily explains why the undersea kingdom exists in the first place. As far as Tsuru no Ongaeshi, though I found Niimura’s take somewhat disturbing, I also think he has plenty of scope to expand the story into a full-length, standalone graphic novel, or maybe even a manga series.
• Niimura’s art style is fascinating. It makes me think of cartoons, or newspaper comics, rather than manga, and while there are many moments in the book which felt very emotionally Japanese, the art itself feels oddly nation-less, which to me made it all the more international. It’s difficult to explain, but I feel an artist from any country or background could draw in this style, as it seems versatile and adaptable to many types of stories. Funnily, I realize I’m saying this even as I talk about a Japanese artist drawing distinctly Japanese stories. In the same way the use of multiple languages in Harmony Becker’s Himawari House (read my post here) made me consider what the global literature(s) of the future might look like, Niimura’s art seems to provide one possible visual counterpart of the same concept.

What I learned:

• I read plenty of manga (as anyone who follows me on twitter knows), but it hardly ever occurs to me to look for other types of graphic novels in Japanese. After reading Niimura’s work, I definitely need to work on this!

Questions I had:

• Does Niimura choose which language to publish each of his books in, or does it have more to do with which publisher accepts his pitch? I am assuming Spanish and Japanese are his native languages, based on the original languages of Never Open It and Henshin, another of his works, and I have also listened to him do an interview in English. I’m curious about publication language because I wonder if it affects Niimura’s vision of his target audience. For example, I’m bilingual in Japanese and English, but since I mostly envision English-reading nikkei as my primary audience (in the sense that these are the people I want to write for, first and foremost), I contextualize my writing using basic assumptions about what most nikkei might know about Japanese culture and language. I imagine it works a bit differently in art (a picture is worth a thousand words, etc.), but still, I wonder if there is any correlation between language and audience for Niimura as a creator.
• Are there any plans to publish a Japanese edition of Never Open It? If so, would Niimura write the script himself?
• How does Niimura situate himself and his work in the existing body of Japanese literature and/or art?

Follow-up:

• I feel bad for not reading Never Open It in the original language, Spanish (I cannot seem to locate a reasonably-priced copy), but I hope to read Henshin in the original Japanese, provided I can acquire a copy.
• I’m looking forward to Niimura’s next graphic novel!

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Himawari House, written and illustrated by Harmony Becker, follows the story of Nao, Hyejung, and Tina during Nao’s one-year stay in a Tokyo sharehouse.

What I liked:

• I’ve watched many readers of color express delight at finally seeing themselves in books, but I have not felt such a deep connection to a nikkei-authored book until now. Although my life trajectory is a bit different from Nao’s, there were so many points at which Nao did or thought or felt something that I could relate to exactly. I am so appreciative of this book and of Harmony Becker for creating it.
• The reading experience of this book is fascinating. Out of context (i.e. if I did not know Becker was Japanese, writing about Japanese topics), Becker’s art style feels more ‘USian graphic novel’ or maybe ‘Asian American graphic novel’ than manga, especially the appearance of human characters, but the settings and mannerisms felt distinctly ‘Asian in Asia’ if not exactly the same sort of ‘Japanese’ that I experience when I read manga. Becker’s use of Japanese to denote sounds is likely a nod to manga/’Japanese in Japan-ness’ and, though initially startling to see alongside the English dialogue, feels more appropriate to me than using English sounds. It would probably have been extremely visually disruptive to see ‘THUD!’ or ‘BLAM!’ or ‘BANG!’ scrawled across the page.
• When I first started reading this book, I tried to read both the Japanese and English dialogue in situations where the English merely served as a translation for words originally spoken in Japanese, but I quickly found this to be hindering to my reading speed and switched to reading only the Japanese for those bits of dialogue. This meant the Korean dialogue was the only part of the book I could not read, but it makes me wonder about how the reading experience would be immediately different for people based on their language ability, in addition to differences caused by personal background and interests. I personally enjoyed seeing multiple languages on the page and based on Becker’s note about accents at the end of the book, it seems this environment felt as natural for her as it does for me. My mother still has traces of an accent in spite of having lived in the US for multiple decades, but I have never ‘heard’ it because it was simply the way she spoke English for as long as I could remember.
• On the back cover (I read the paperback edition), George Takei describes the book as, “a tantalizing peek into the future of our global society.” Although I’m not sure in what context he intended his comment, it made me (re)consider the times I have wanted to write bilingually, leaving the untranslated Japanese on the page for my presumably majority-non-Japanese-reading audience. As Nao herself comes to realize, being nikkei does not mean being ‘not enough’ of anything, but rather defining for ourselves how much of anything we want to be. There will always be naysayers, but this is true of anything in life, and it does not change who we are. With this in mind, part of my personal definition/feeling of being nikkei is existing, by default, in a multi-cultural, -lingual, -ethnic, -racial, -geographical, -etc. space, not rejected by, but rather already a part of, all of the identities and communities we claim. The future of ‘nikkei literature’ likely lies in works that are multi-something by default. In fact, nikkei poets are way ahead of the curve with their language-work, and I hope to see nikkei authors of all forms and genres follow suit. I also hope mainstream US publishing can keep up with us!
• Becker is spot-on in the depiction of cultural/social/behavioral differences between nihonjin and nikkeijin. Obviously, ‘not all…’ and so on, but I recognized so many moments between Nao, Masaki, and Shinichi, because I’ve experienced similar things with nihonjin family and friends. I can ‘pass’ as nihonjin if I behave the right way (my personality is probably also more naturally aligned with nihonjin behaviors and values than Nao’s seems to be), but sometimes it’s more fun to be the amerikajin in the crowd. To be clear, I do feel the choice to ‘be the amerikajin’ is distinct from being ostracized as a foreigner by nihonjin, which is a valid and often hurtful experience for many nikkei.
• One last aspect of this book that I appreciated, which I was a bit apprehensive about prior to reading it, is that none of the non-Japanese residents of the sharehouse are weebs, or appear to have any unhealthy attachment to or delusions about Japanese culture. Hyejung and Tina both remind me of the Asian-from-Asia students I befriended in college, who seemed generally indifferent to my background, in the sense that they never asked pointed questions about Japan or Japanese-ness and never appeared to have any expectations of me in that regard. It’s true that these friends, like Hyejung and Tina, would probably not have understood the baggage attached to being Japanese outside Japan, especially in a western country (and maybe especially in the US), as Nao discovers. Another big thanks to Becker for giving weight to this sensitive topic, which I often feel is not really understood by anyone except fellow nikkei.

What I learned:

• I suppose I always assumed sharehouses open to foreigners were primarily for university students, or maybe professionals looking for cheap housing, but I had not thought about using a sharehouse like Nao does, as a place to stay during a gap year. Part of me wishes this had occurred to me when I graduated high school; I wonder if my life would have followed a different path if I had gone straight to Japan.

Questions I had:

• How did fellow nikkei readers feel about this book? Which nikkei readers, if any, did Becker envision as a target audience for her book?
• At times, Becker includes romanized Japanese at the beginning of English dialogue, when a character starts (possibly/probably by reflex) with a Japanese expression, but then continues with a language more familiar to them. I am curious about these instances because I wonder if they occur with that character’s specific accent in Japanese. Since there are other instances where non-native Japanese speakers are shown speaking in Japanese, including Japanese expressions, this is the only explanation I was able to come up with for the romanizations. For example, if Nao’s English dialogue starts with romanized Japanese, such as, ‘are,’ is ‘are’ spoken with an American accent, or with a natural Japanese intonation? I realize this question assumes the characters’ accents change, but since this is also discussed by the characters themselves, I feel it to be a fair assumption. In my case, I speak Japanese with native intonations (meaning, I can ‘pass’ as nihonjin by my speech), but I also know how to pronounce Japanese words with an American accent, and I assume Nao’s Japanese language ability begins or progresses to this point as well.

Follow-up:

• I am incredibly excited to read more of Becker’s work, especially if it concerns nikkei experiences.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Saucy, by Cynthia Kadohata, is the story of a lost piglet and of Becca, the girl who adopts her.

What I liked:

• I picked up this book for two reasons – the pig on the cover and Cynthia Kadohata, who is probably one of the most featured authors in Book Spotlight posts. The genre – MG contemporary – is not one I generally gravitate toward, so I was surprised that I enjoyed this book as much as I did. I actually read it in two sittings, which is highly unusual; I don’t remember the last time I read a full-length novel in such a short time. Even more strangely, it’s difficult to pinpoint exactly why this book was a page-turner for me. The basic plot is fairly straightforward, but, as with much of Kadohata’s work, I found myself looking closely at the breadth and depth of meaning Kadohata conveys in deceptively spare prose. Becca’s rapport with her family, especially her three brothers, seems ordinary and childlike at first glance, but Kadohata’s unassuming portrayal of the small gestures that form the basis of their relationships perfectly captures sibling intimacy.

What I learned:

• Japanese-ness, at least in a context recognizable to me, is scarcely present in this story, except for the brief mention of Becca’s family history. Character descriptions are sketchy at best, which I found interesting, since so many other authors of color seem to highlight their characters’ appearances to emphasize and affirm their existence as people of color. If not for a few hints here and there, I would have easily read Becca’s family as white. I imagine this was anticipated and even planned by Kadohata, but I wonder about the reason. For one thing, based on my reading of the novel, Becca and her immediate family are white-passing, or at least not sufficiently ‘nonwhite’ to be racialized in their seemingly predominantly white town. For another, I’m curious about where we might draw the line – or does a line even need to be drawn? – between normalizing characters of color by deliberately presenting them in the same way white characters are presented (as a ‘race-less’ default) and having this decision mistaken, by POC and white readers alike, as simply giving way to whiteness by erasing so-called ‘undesirable’ (often interchanged with words like ‘ethnic’ or ‘racial’ because white default) qualities from the page. I get the sense both of these editorial decisions occur regularly in mainstream US publishing.

Questions I had:

• What motivated Kadohata to write about a pig? I mean, I quite enjoy pigs, but it rarely occurs to me to write about them.
• How do readers with cerebral palsy feel about the representation of Bailey? What was Kadohata’s intent in creating the character of Bailey?

Follow-up:

• It seems statistically unlikely that Kadohata will write another book about a pig, so as follow-up I’ll keep an eye out for other books by nikkei writers that feature pigs.