To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

In Village Scene/Village Herd, Yasuo Sasaki offers (sometimes tongue-in-cheek) commentary on various aspects of everyday life.

What I liked:

• Up to this point, the poetry I’ve read for Book Spotlight was written by poets for whom the craft of poetry seems to be a primary goal or theme of their lives – by which I mean, their “day” job is also closely related to poetry. I don’t know much about Yasuo Sasaki, but the note at the end of the book indicates he was a doctor. Stylistically, Sasaki’s poetry is strikingly different from that of other poets I’ve read. Since I’m not a poetry craft expert, I don’t know if this difference is a lack of technical skill (though for poets of color, the criteria for ranking “skill” seems to be deliberately and consistently fluid, especially in recent discussions), or if Sasaki’s personal style is simply far removed from other poets I’ve read, or if Sasaki’s poems were typical of the period in which they were originally published, or if there is some other reason altogether. At any rate, Sasaki’s style is a startling but refreshing change (for context, the last book of poetry I read is Lukao by Craig Santos Perez – which was amazing, I recommend it).
• The pun in the title is probably immediately obvious to most readers, but I didn’t notice it until I was sitting down to read the book. It made me laugh, as did Sasaki’s sly humor in many of his poems.
• Sasaki’s tone is very matter-of-fact, which strikes me as quintessentially Japanese American – though in Sasaki’s case, his topics and themes are definitely reflective of his generation. Although I wouldn’t say Sasaki’s book is perfect, I enjoyed it for what it is to me – a vivid example of one Japanese American writer’s perspective on life and a window into a previous time.

What I learned:

• The poem “Gunman” made me think about ongoing, state-sanctioned police violence against Black and Brown people. What would Sasaki have thought about the murder of George Floyd? What would Sasaki have considered the appropriate response of nikkei/Japanese American communities to movements like Black Lives Matter?

Questions I had:

• Would Sasaki have identified himself as a nikkei and/or Japanese American writer? If not, what kind of writer did he identify as? Did he envision his poems as having a place in nikkei and/or Japanese American literature? What opinion, if any, did he have of the concept of nikkei and/or Japanese American literature? How would he have felt about the currently ongoing movements to diversify literature and support marginalized writers?
• I tried to give Sasaki the benefit of the doubt in his jokes, because I know nothing about his personal life, but some of his poems made me wonder if he would be supportive of the currently ongoing movements for sex and gender inclusivity.

Follow-up:

• I need to read more books by nikkei writers of previous generations, particularly more books by nikkei writers working immediately before and immediately after JA incarceration, to expand my understanding of how trends in nikkei literature have developed over time. I want to say there is already a nikkei-authored book which examines the extent to which JA incarceration and/or the concept of “camp” shaped the subsequent trajectory of nikkei literature, but if not, I look forward to the day when a nikkei writer publishes one (as long as there is no white co-writer/editor – please let that trend die ASAP). I believe Asian American Writers Workshop did a roundtable discussion on their website where they interviewed a group of Asian writers about “camp,” but I do not think it was specific to nikkei writers and/or JA incarceration.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

The Palace of Contemplating Departure is a collection of poems both strikingly personal and quietly universal.

What I liked:

• I did not know much about Brynn Saito prior to reading this book and I still do not, but I enjoyed her poems and I am glad to know she is among the nikkei poets living and working today.
• The cover art (by Liang Wei, per the back cover of the paperback edition) is lovely and is one of the reasons I decided to buy this book on the spur of the moment. I was not sure if the empty boat indicated a journey about to begin, a journey ended, a journey cut short, or something else entirely, but I was fascinated by the potential myriad of meanings behind this image and bought the book thinking the poems inside must surely measure up. On a side note, who selects the cover art for poetry books? What are the qualities of a “good” cover for a book of poetry?
• Saito’s poems are conceptually fluid, one moment seeming to reflect on personal relationships, the next becoming a commentary on national and global inequities. Although I am still working out my own relationship to poetry, Saito’s poems exemplify one of the qualities I most admire in poets – the ability to meaningfully address a wide range of topics in very few words. When I was a student, I remember thinking it seemed unfair for professors writing history books to receive the same length sabbatical as professors writing a book of poetry, but I am beginning to understand why a poet would need every bit of this time.

What I learned:

• Saito is among the more socially engaged of the nikkei writers I have read. Her involvement with the Yonsei Memory Project is especially interesting and I am looking forward to learning more about it.

Questions I had:

• Is Saito religious, or are the religious references in her poems present for some other reason?
• Saito chronicles police brutality and writes of, “my country.” From the context and her naming of specific cities, I assume the country in question is the US, but in what sense does Saito utilize the word “my?” Saito’s biography indicates she is Korean and Japanese. Does she think of Korea or Japan as being “my country” in any form, or is “country” a metaphor for something else? How does Saito conceptualize the connection(s) between being nikkei and “American-ness?”
• Saito references Nagasaki, in what appears to be an acknowledgment of the bomb, though I am not sure why. Also, is there any connection between Saito’s many religious references and Nagasaki’s history with religious foreigners?
• How might we (nikkei readers) understand Saito’s poems on JA incarceration relative to other nikkei writers’ approaches? How does Saito envision her own work relative to existing nikkei literature? What does Saito see as the future of nikkei literature?

Follow-up:

• Eventually, I would like to read Saito’s other book, Power Made Us Swoon.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Histories of Bodies is a collection of poems contemplating the many forms of loss.

What I liked:

• In my reflections on Nagai’s other works, I have been thinking of her as a nikkei writer, in spite of the fact that she appears to spend the majority of her time in Japan and, from what I gathered by reading Irradiated Cities, moves fairly easily through Japanese society. It is not that spending time in Japan or fitting into Japanese society are qualities mutually exclusive to being nikkei, but as I look at the breadth of Nagai’s works, I see a very different way of (potentially) being nikkei, compared to the majority of nikkei writers published in the US. I raise this point because some of the forms of loss Nagai touches upon in Histories of Bodies, particularly forms of loss linked to family members, made me think of loss, both physical and geographic (and chronological? linguistic? cultural?), as it is addressed by other nikkei writers. Many diaspora writers (including nikkei writers), dwell on themes of memory, identity, and the search for both in their works. Loss is also present, but when I compare Histories to works by other nikkei writers, I feel that Nagai positions herself as looking back in these poems, whereas other (but not all) nikkei writers anchor themselves firmly in the present and utilize looking back as a means of moving forward.

What I learned:

• It seems self-evident to say there are many forms of loss, but in reading Nagai’s poems, I found myself forced to contemplate exactly what forms loss might and does take. For example, Nagai’s contemplation of her mother’s body might function simultaneously as a “looking back” (after an assumed death) but also a “viewing in the moment,” a perception of infinitesimal but inexorable loss happening right before one’s eyes. Although the topic is not exactly uplifting, I appreciate Nagai’s thoughtful approach and I think it is worthwhile for us as nikkei writers to consider how Nagai’s poems might influence our perceptions of our own experiences.

Questions I had:

• In certain genres, are emerging writers encouraged to produce intensely personal/autobiographical pieces for their debut/early works? This does not apply simply to nikkei writers, but is a trend (is it a trend?) I have noticed with writers of color. I have never attended a writing workshop, but I wonder if it is also reflective of the types of narratives writers are encouraged (or feel themselves obligated?) to craft in a formal academic setting. At any rate, Histories, which is so far the earliest of Nagai’s works I have read, felt far more intimate and personal than her other works. I am actually glad I read Nagai’s other works first, since as a standalone, the poems in Histories were not as compelling to me as, for example, her work in Irradiated Cities. Taken together, I find I appreciate the intensely close-up emotions of Histories as a counter to the broadly sketched (but also close-up, in their own way) concepts underlying Nagai’s later works. I wonder, too, about the use of first/early works as a biographical foundation of sorts for writers working in certain genres, a sort of means to take that first decisive step in declaring yourself present. Do writers of color specifically feel a pressure (or are they encouraged by others – and are the others also people of color?) to establish themselves in this particular way, or in any particular way?

Follow-up:

• I believe Nagai’s next work is coming out in 2021 or 2022 and I am definitely looking forward to it!

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Irradiated Cities is a collection of poems exploring the (concept of) aftermath of catastrophic events in four cities.

What I liked:

• Nagai’s poems are incredibly readable (and I say this as someone who has no aspirations to be a poet or any formal training in the mechanics of poetry). Although I often sense a great depth of emotion in the poems I read, most of the time I also feel a distance between myself (as the reader) and the poet. I do not know if this is always intentional on the poet’s part, or if it simply means my personal experiences are too far removed from the experiences which form the core of the poet’s work. This is not a “bad” thing, per se, but something I have always thought about when I consider what the poet might have wanted readers to experience. Irradiated Cities provided a very different reading experience – and this is where I’m particularly interested in knowing how other Japanese/nikkei readers reacted. Although I am separated from the events discussed in Irradiated Cities by several degrees, I felt incredibly moved by the emotions and experiences underlying Nagai’s poems, and I could not tell if this was a common reaction for any reader who identifies as Japanese, or if it was more specific to my family’s experiences.
• I appreciate Nagai’s reference to the commercialization/presentation/preservation of Hiroshima and the politics therein. The last time I was at the peace park, I remember looking around and wondering how many of the people there had actually come to pay their respects/hold remembrance, versus for some other reason. I remember looking at the strings of cranes brought by various Japanese students on school trips and thinking about how the war is (or might be, or is not) taught in Japanese schools. My mom was with me and noted some of the differences in the peace park site (apparently, the museum was significantly remodeled and the contents changed) from the last time she visited. It’s not my place to criticize how Japan chooses to portray Hiroshima’s history, but I would certainly agree that the topic is worth consideration by those who do have a direct stake in it. For nikkei like myself who are not direct descendants of hibakusha, I think it is useful to consider why we choose to visit sites of devastation in Hiroshima (or Nagasaki, or Fukushima) and what it means for us to do so.

What I learned:

• One thing which was constantly on my mind as I read Irradiated Cities, especially as I read the Fukushima poems, was the idea of 余計なお世話. Since I grew up with Japanese parents, specifically a 日本人 parent, I already understand this way of thinking as second nature. Over the years, especially in my interactions with non-Japanese/non-Asian people, I’ve come to realize this concept is not common across all cultures, at least not in the same way. (Of course, it also manifests differently among 日本人, but that is a discussion for another time.) I was in college when 3/11 happened and I remember being asked (in retrospect, I don’t recall if I was randomly asked, or if nikkei students were being asked specifically) to participate in a student-produced video, intended to be a source of support for Japanese students who were studying abroad on our campus. I remember not really wanting to participate, but not feeling like I could say no, either. Looking back, I realize I was reluctant to take part because the intent behind the video made me uncomfortable. I never found out if any of the students were personally affected by 3/11 (here meaning, they were from Fukushima, or lost someone they knew), but for anyone who may have been, I would think trying to muster the grace to respond (in a way acceptable/intelligible to USian students) would be extremely difficult under the circumstances. Of course, I could be wrong. I never found out how the video was received, so it could be that the students were happy and grateful. Or maybe some were and some were not. I share this story because it strikes me as one example of what was repeated the world over when 3/11 happened, and what Nagai highlights in her poems – an outpouring of support for Japan, but with a rather limited understanding of what the people of Fukushima actually needed or wanted. As Nagai says, when catastrophe strikes, sometimes there is no “after,” especially for the people directly involved.

Questions I had:

• Now that I have read Nagai’s work in three rather distinct subject areas – JA incarceration (Dust of Eden), Japanese imperialism in China (Under the Broken Sky), and nuclear catastrophes in Japan (Irradiated Cities), I’m curious about her focus as a scholar. Her “day” job appears to be as a professor at Temple University Japan. I’m currently reading Histories of Bodies, another collection of poems by Nagai, which appears to focus on loss, on a more personal/individual level. It seems to me that Nagai’s interest is in how people (specifically Japanese people?) respond to trauma, specifically their emotional responses, and in this concept of “aftermath.” Her period of focus appears to be predominantly the WWII era. What drew her to these topics? How does she envision her work fitting into the existing bodies of scholarship and literature?
• How might we (Japanese/nikkei people, in our various communities and spaces and identities) consider Nagai’s work in relation to works like Akiko Hashimoto’s The Long Defeat and Karen Inouye’s The Long Afterlife of Nikkei Wartime Incarceration? (Interesting, both titles use “long.” Do we mean “in perpetuity” when we say long?) What happens if we put Nagai’s work in conversation with Brandon Shimoda’s work on memory and JA incarceration? As time progresses and more years intervene between the present and these historic events, are we seeing a shift in analytic focus? What happens when the chroniclers of events are no longer the eyewitnesses, or when the eyewitnesses we knew are no longer with us, and we are left with their memories, or our impressions of their memories?

Follow up:

• I will definitely be keeping an eye out for whatever Nagai publishes next. I’m finding that I never know quite what to expect from her work, which keeps things interesting!
• I have Displacement by Kiku Hughes in my TBR and I’m looking forward to examining how Hughes’s portrayal of JA incarceration through the lens of family history parallels/diverges from/builds on the work of the writers discussed above.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, click here.

In Under the Broken Sky, sisters Natsu and Asa Kimura must make the long trek to safety after Japanese rule in Manchuria comes to an end.

What I liked:

• It took me a long time to read this book. At first, I thought the book was simply not to my liking, but when I finally picked it up again, I realized my discomfort with the subject matter had more to do with my feelings about Japanese-ness and what it means to be nikkei. Having now finished the book, I would definitely recommend it to fellow nikkei readers who enjoy stories that encourage self-reflection.
• Nagai’s verses are incredibly readable and I am amazed at the vivid scenes she is able to paint with just a few words. Although I have never envisioned myself as any kind of poet, reading Nagai’s work, not to mention nikkei poets like Kenji Liu and Brandon Shimoda, has taught me a lot about ways of interacting with language(s).* Most novelists probably already know this, but I think there is much (for us) to learn by studying the work of poets. (On a side note, I also find myself thinking about the role of poets in Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda’s Monstress.)
• I would like to read this book in Japanese – if Nagai herself is the one to write it! The style choices of fellow bilingual nikkei/Japanese writers are always fascinating to me, especially choices pertaining to translation. In this instance, I am curious to see how Natsu’s personality comes across in Japanese.

What I learned:

• I really don’t know much about Japanese settler colonialism (is ‘settler colonialism’ still the term if the context is not US history?) in Asia, and I still don’t, but reading this book has motivated me to revisit the academic portion of my TBR, with an eye to how broadening my understanding of this area of history may influence my ever-evolving views on what it means to be Japanese.

Questions I had:

• In the afterword, Nagai links her work to refugee crises around the world, and ends with the line, “Nobody chooses to be a refugee.” I appreciate and respect the feelings behind this statement and I always like to see authors who are in touch with current events. That said, I’m curious about the context here. It seems to me there is a certain flattening of nuance happening, but I also wonder if I could be mistaken, because it seems odd that a poet of all people would skip over this deliberately. In this story, Natsu and Asa are very obviously settlers. They refer to themselves as such and they call their hometown a settlement. It is clear they do not understand settler colonialism/Japanese imperialism in the same way the original Chinese residents of Manchuria do. As Nagai writes, many Japanese settlers in this period did not understand their role in the displacement of local populations (I need to look into this more – would it not be fairly obvious that you are moving into land, especially agricultural land, that was lately occupied by someone else? Was this a willful lack of understanding, or were these settlers, perhaps because of their origins in rural Japan, truly so much out of touch with the larger picture of Japanese imperialism? How much “innocence” can be claimed here?). Natsu and Asa, and the other settlers fleeing Manchuria, undergo many horrible experiences and some do not survive. As a reader, it is not difficult to sympathize. However, does/should this sympathy take the same form as sympathy for, say, residents of Palestine? How about immigrants from Latin America? Nagai herself references 3/11 as another source of refugees. It seems she wishes to make a broader point about the treatment of refugees across the globe, which is certainly valid. As a US citizen, I understand how remaining ignorant of immigrant crises at this time is an especially shameful privilege. Still…I think it is possible to draw attention to refugee crises without necessarily erasing the different circumstances which cause certain groups to become refugees.
• If a Japanese or nikkei writer wanted to write about refugees, without being a complete cultural/ethnic outsider, what scope of experience is available? Nagai tells us she thought of this story while watching a program about the ethnically Japanese, culturally Chinese descendants of Japanese settlers returning to Japan from China in search of long-lost relatives. She also has a personal connection to the topic via her uncle, who was drafted and imprisoned in Siberia. Personally, I’m quite glad to see Nagai, a Japanese writer (and with a personal connection!), be the one to discuss this weighty topic. It would also be interesting to read work by Chinese writers who were witnesses or descendants of witnesses to Japanese imperialism in Manchuria. I raise this point because, in thinking about how Nagai linked her specific work to broader refugee issues, I wondered how many other ways a Japanese or nikkei writer could do this without, as previously stated, writing from the perspective of a complete outsider. Stated another way, in what contexts can Japanese or nikkei writers responsibly participate in ongoing dialogues about refugee crises? For example, some nikkei activist groups have been protesting the immigrant detention centers, drawing a direct link between these centers and the incarceration of Japanese Americans during the war. This seems to me to be a form of allyship. Does Nagai accomplish the same thing in her book, by linking the historic experiences of Japanese settlers to the present-day experiences of refugees around the world?
• I also think of 火垂るの墓. It has a similar theme – spotlighting the experiences of Japanese children during the war – but a different context. In both cases, it is not hard for the audience to sympathize with the plight of children who are victimized by circumstances beyond their control or understanding. However, what happens beyond that? Should we (Japanese, non-Japanese?) interpret 火垂るの墓 as a poignant symbol representing the perceived victimization of Japan at the end of the war? Is it an anti-war message? Does it condemn Japanese imperialism by pointing to what happens to those left at home? Is it ambivalent – both pro- and anti-Japan at once? The same questions can be applied to Under the Broken Sky. To be clear, I am not at all stating Nagai has a pro-Japan stance on the war. Rather, I am curious about the role that works like these play in shaping our understandings of Japanese-ness, particularly Japanese-ness as it relates to the war. How might these works fit in with Akiko Hashimoto’s analysis in The Long Defeat? (Read my post on Hashimoto’s book here.) How does Nagai herself see her work fitting into the existing literature and media about Japan at war?
• Is there a Japanese translation of this book? If so, how has it been received by nihonjin readers? I keep going back to Nagai’s statement that this book began while she was watching television. From my experiences in Japan and talking to my nihonjin family and friends, and even more specifically, watching television with nihonjin family and friends, I have given a lot of thought to how “fads” or “special interests” operate in Japanese society. I think of Japanese-Chinese people coming to Japan, looking for their relatives, and how Nagai writes that often, there is no one to greet them, because it is a one-sided search. This is similar to discussions I have had with my nihonjin friends, when they tell me nihonjin who immigrated to the US or elsewhere may have been erased from the family registry or simply forgotten. One person’s lifelong search is another person’s…dinnertime entertainment? This is not to say there are no nihonjin interested in making these connections – there are plenty. However, the medium (or intervention?) of television to accomplish or draw attention to these searches is certainly thought-provoking. How does the commercialization of these searches in Japanese media fit in with Hashimoto’s theories on Japanese war memory?
• I often think, in writing my analyses of books pertaining more specifically to nihonjin than nikkei experiences, about the line between what is relevant to me, in the capacity of my identity and experiences, versus what simply becomes passing judgment on matters that have nothing to do with me. Being nikkei is, like other diaspora identities, nebulous, and defined differently by different people. I’m still not sure what to use as the arbiter of “did-I-cross-the-line-or-not,” but I like to think that, for as long as I continue seeking the answer, I will continue to learn.
• A technical note – who determined the use of italics in this book? Certain words in Japanese and Chinese are italicized, but at times, so are phrases in English to indicate speech or emotion. I’m particularly curious because the novel is written in verse and I wonder, in a medium where individual words, line breaks, punctuation, etc., each carry so much weight, how much control did Nagai have over italicization?

Follow-up:

• I have been a fan of Mariko Nagai for several years now and I’m looking forward to reading some of her books of poetry.

*While I’m on the subject of poets, Chen Chen is also a wonderful person to follow online.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this first.

In San Jose’s Japantown, local photographer James Nagareda provides a short overview of Japantown history through photographs and accompanying text.

What I liked:

• Although I grew up not far from this Japantown, this is my first time reading any kind of history about it. I especially enjoyed learning about how each generation of nikkei contributed to Japantown in their own way.
• I had no idea Banana Crepe was such a longstanding establishment! I ate at Banana Crepe for the first time about a year ago and loved it, and assumed it was a new place because I never remembered seeing it in my childhood. For better or worse, a good reminder of the limitations of childhood memory.

What I learned:

• I remember Dobashi Market, but I was not familiar with many of the other nikkei-owned businesses which once operated in Japantown. Even with the aid of the photographs in this book, I can scarcely imagine what Jackson Street looked like, once upon a time. I think there is value to recognizing how little we (in the present) can truly understand of the past, even when provided with excellent resources, because it drives home the importance of responsible storytelling and narrative (re)making. In particular, reading this book made me think more deeply about how the contemporary generation of JA writers, myself included, should theorize the (re)telling of our histories, specifically narratives of wartime incarceration. This is not to say we should *not* tell these stories, but rather to highlight the care required to undertake such a project, since we are telling not our own personal stories, but the stories of our ancestors and other community members.
• There were sumo tournaments in San Jose? Really?! I’ve only ever seen sumo on TV during summers in Japan, so this was quite a surprise.

Questions I had:

• Did Nagareda and/or the nikkei who advised him on this project choose to use “internment” or was the term required by the editorial team of the Images of America series, of which this book is a part? I recently learned the National Park Service has, at least on paper, a policy requiring staff to use the term “internment” when speaking with visitors. I’m not sure if the Images of America series receives any federal funding, but if so, I wonder if they have a similar editorial policy.
• Where did the term “J-town” come from? I think I first saw it online but I’m curious to know its history – was it a shorthand developed by nikkei trying to imitate AAVE? Or perhaps as a convenience in social media spaces with character limits? I suppose J-town might also be easier to pronounce for Japanese people unused to English, but I’ve never heard any 日本人 use the term, probably because one can just as easily say 日本町.
• Whether intentionally or not, this book chronicles the evolving relationship(s) between Japan – specifically cultural aspects brought over from Japan – and the local nikkei community. Has any nikkei scholar written a book about this topic, maybe looking at JA/nikkei communities throughout the US? I suppose it would be a social or cultural history, or maybe an analysis of community/ethnic identity formation, depending on the author’s focus. Personally, I would be most interested in reading a nikkei scholar’s analysis of how cultural aspects (language, customs, sports, media, etc.) brought over from Japan have influenced nikkei identity formation(s) over time. I’ll have to take another look at my TBR list to see if I already found a similar book and simply forgot (would not be the first time!).
• Has any nikkei scholar analyzed the connections between Japantowns and nikkei identity? I’m thinking specifically of how definitions of “Japaneseness” are (re)made and (re)translated in Japantown spaces. For example, the Japanese-speaking child of Shin-Issei parents goes into a Japantown shop run by Yonsei, who might only know fragments of Japanese, but who have a much more extensive knowledge of nikkei history in the US, and they start a dialogue about their connections to Japan. Or, a young nikkei student trying hard to learn Japanese goes into a Japantown shop, hoping to reconnect with their heritage in nikkei spaces, only to be greeted by a white (and maybe also weeb) clerk. I suppose this could be interpreted as one particular iteration of the cultural aspects I mention above, but I also see a distinction in that Japantowns have experienced very specific changes over time (in appearance, location, ownership, clientele, etc.) by virtue of their physicality in non-Japan spaces, in a way that, say, something like Naruto has not.*

Follow-up:

• If there are Images of America books for San Francisco Japantown and Little Tokyo, I’m definitely interested in reading them, as long as they were put together by nikkei writers. It would also be interesting to read a history of the now-vanished Japantown in Portland, Oregon, especially if said history was discussed in relation to contemporary perspectives on Portland in Japan, as well as analyses of Portland’s current Japanese community.
• I saw another tweet the other day reminding me what a privilege it is to be able to concentrate one’s advocacy on representation. Although I started this blog mostly for myself, I strongly believe it is important to link issues of representation (specifically, in nikkei media) to broader social issues in the nikkei community, in order to facilitate in-community dialogues about how we can all do our respective work to move forward together. I’m not sure this goal has always been obvious in my posts and will try to do better going forward. Once my job and housing prospects stabilize, I also hope to move beyond this blog and become more actively involved in my local nikkei community.

*That said, as manga/anime continue to increase in popularity outside of Japan, I wonder what sort of ripple effects this will have (and may already be having) on the industry and how long it will be before these effects start to become evident to consumers.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this first.

The Thing About Luck chronicles the experiences of Summer Miyamoto and her family while they are on harvest.

What I liked:

• Kadohata kept me guessing about her primary purpose in writing this book, all the way to the end. Regardless, I definitely think the book holds a valuable place in Nikkei literature. As far as I know, there are not a lot of novels depicting contemporary JA experiences in agriculture, especially for young readers.
• The next time someone asks me about “voice” in writing, I think I’ll point them to this book. Kadohata captures the mentality of a twelve-year-old JA girl so well, I started having flashbacks to my own middle school years. I especially enjoy the way Summer often interrupts herself or goes on a tangent mid-thought; her thought processes felt incredibly familiar and relatable, even though her day-to-day experiences are very different from mine.
• Jiichan’s and Obaachan’s ways of speaking English are captured perfectly; I could hear their accents and inflections clearly in my head. I was also intrigued by how often they choose to talk to each other in English rather than Japanese. From my own experiences, I know language choice varies greatly by individual and is not solely determined by generation, age, or speaking ability.
• Kadohata captures intergenerational relationships and family dynamics beautifully – this is a common thread in all of her works (that I’ve read thus far). Her characters are so real in their thoughts and actions, a definite counterpoint to the “Japanese” characters often written by non-Japanese authors.
• There is so much more that could be said about this book – it would be interesting if a JA online publication did a roundtable of JA readers/writers from varied backgrounds discussing their thoughts.

What I learned:

• I learned many agricultural terms from this book. Even with Summer’s step-by-step explanation, I still don’t fully understand how a combine works. I also had no idea “harvesting” was a business run separately from farming.

Questions I had:

• Why did Kadohata decide to write a book about Japanese American harvesters? Although I haven’t yet done any external research about this book, as is my usual practice for Book Spotlight posts, I’m curious about the harvesters named in the Acknowledgments. Are any of them Japanese? Does Kadohata know any Japanese American farmers or harvesters, or was she drawn to the subject for some other reason? I have relatives who are farmers in the Midwest…I wonder what they would think of this book?
• Upon initial publication, was this book made accessible to JA readers with backgrounds similar to the Miyamoto family? I wonder how many JA families working in agriculture knew about the book prior to its winning the National Book Award, or even how many of them know about the book now.
• Is there a Japanese translation of this book? If so, what has been the response of 日本人 readers? I would be especially curious to know if any 日本人 readers living in rural areas, especially any farm kids, have read this book.
• How did Kadohata decide on Summer’s obsession with mosquitoes and her experience with malaria? Incidentally, I’ve gotten some of my worst mosquito bites during summers in Japan, so though I’ve never had malaria, I can relate to Summer’s paranoia about going outside during mosquito weather, and I also somewhat associate mosquitoes with “Japaneseness” or maybe my personal experiences being JA/Nikkei…how strange to think of mosquitoes as a bridge between places for Nikkei.
• Jaz’s disability is never specifically identified, but I’d be interested in knowing if any JA/Nikkei with a similar disability have read this book, and if so, what they thought. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of a JA organization dedicated to supporting disabled JAs (as distinct from senior support services, though there can certainly be overlap). I would assume there might be several such organizations in Hawaii, given the size of the Nikkei population (occupying population? settler population?), but I wonder about the Bay Area and other parts of the US. Definitely something to look into.
• Fellow JA/Nikkei readers, what did you think of Kadohata’s depictions of racism in this book? Even now, coming back to this draft to write this section after thinking about it for a few days, I’m still not quite sure what to make of it. Summer and her family members face constant racist microaggressions from white characters. Yet, Summer often finds ways to rationalize these microaggressions as something else – a personality quirk, having a hard life, being stressed about harvest. In some ways, this makes sense to me. Before I fully understood what racism was and had my understandings validated by other POC, I also tended to try to rationalize racism directed at me as something else. At the same time, this book won the National Book Award. I need to see if I can dig up any articles or interviews with details as to why, but at this moment I can’t help wondering if this “soft” approach to race made it palatable to the decision makers, some of whom presumably were white. In particular, I wonder if Summer’s behavior fit someone’s stereotype of Japanese Americans as the model minority.
• All of that said, I don’t necessarily think Kadohata should have written those scenes a different way. As mentioned above, Summer’s experiences with racism are very consistent with my own childhood – race is not a thing you become automatically aware of just because you’re on the receiving end of racist behavior. Kadohata provides some details about Summer’s daily life which suggest Summer is not tuned into social media or in an environment where she is regularly exposed to social justice thinking. Instead, Summer responds to racism with the resources she has – her own common sense and her ever-supportive family. Although I don’t know who Kadohata’s intended audience was, I wonder if part of her intent in writing a story about JAs in Kansas was to highlight the contrast between their experiences and the experiences of the coastal/urban/suburban/Hawaii-based JAs more frequently depicted in Nikkei literature. The question is, was Kadohata doing this for a JA/Nikkei audience, or for non-Japanese readers? Was the impact of the book greater on JA/Nikkei readers or on non-Japanese readers?
• From Kadohata’s perspective, what does “American” mean in the context of JA/Nikkei experiences? For example, some critics might claim one merit of this book is how Summer is depicted “like any other American kid” – but this assumes “American” to be a good thing, an identity JAs should embrace and/or strive toward. (Come to think of it, I’m not sure if a book which situates/indicts JAs and other POC in a settler colonial context would ever be considered for a national award – are we at that point yet? I haven’t been keeping up with recent award winners – unless it was an academic text.) Based on her previous works, I get the impression “American-ness” is something Kadohata considers a positive for JAs. If so, then in the context of Nikkei literature, how might we position Kadohata relative to, say, writers like Brandon Shimoda? All communities of marginalized writers encompass varying levels of social awareness, of course, but specifically in our community, where “American-ness” is inherently linked to the narrative of WWII incarceration and its legacies, how do we reconcile our histories with the present and ongoing need for accountability and change?

Follow-up:

• I have Kadohata’s newest book somewhere in my TBR…one of these days, there will be a post about it.
• As noted above, I will be doing my own investigation into the existence of support services and writings for/by disabled JAs.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this first.

Ghosts for Breakfast, written by Stanley Todd Terasaki and illustrated by Shelly Shinjo, is the story of a boy who accompanies his father to investigate “ghosts” in a nearby farmer’s field.

What I liked:

• Daikon! It never occurred to me the ghosts might be daikon. I’m glad everyone gets to eat daikon pickles at the end. I wonder how many nikkei farmers – specifically, the men – did their own pickling.
• I’m assuming Terasaki chose the names Ono, Omi, and Omaye for their onomatopoeic similarity to certain English words. It’s amusing, but also a bit strange for these secondary characters to have names, whereas the main character and his parents are never introduced. I can see why this happened, since Terasaki is retelling a family anecdote and already knows who everyone is, but it does give the Troublesome Triplets a somewhat more substantial presence than the supposed main characters. At the same time, the use of the first-person narrative and the nameless narrator might make it easier for young readers to imagine themselves into the story, which I think is a goal of many children’s books.
• Shelly Shinjo’s illustrations are so much fun! Her characters are rendered with empathy and humor, and her use of curved lines and rounded forms lends her images a homely, familiar quality. That said, I initially thought the food depicted on the cover was some kind of dumpling, and wondered why a story purportedly about nikkei history would so prominently feature what appeared to be Chinese cuisine. The daikon pickles depicted in the last few pages of the book are easier to identify!

What I learned:

• Are the Troublesome Triplets a group of bachelor farmers making a living together? According to the notes at the beginning of the book (I read the paperback edition), the story is set in the late 1800s and based on an incident from Terasaki’s family history. What were the demographics of California-based nikkei communities at this time? Were farmers with families more likely to become community leaders?

Questions I had:

• What was the market for daikon at this time? Was there any demand for it outside of nikkei and other Asian communities? My uncle grows daikon behind his house, so I know it can be cultivated in small quantities. I wonder if various nikkei farmers took turns growing Japanese vegetables for circulation within the community, so that everyone could enjoy familiar dishes without worrying about cutting into their cash crops.
• Who is Terasaki’s intended audience for this book? What was his purpose in writing this book?
• From whom did Terasaki first hear this story? I’m assuming it was passed down orally through the generations. Specifically, I’m curious about the use of “pon” as the sound for knocking – if the story was written in Japanese, I would expect とんとん or どんどん to be the sound, depending on the strength of the knock. It could be that ぽん was commonly used in this manner at this time, or it could also be a feature of a certain dialect.

Follow-up:

• I wish there were more nikkei-authored picture books chronicling aspects of nikkei history outside of the camps. Books like Ghosts can serve as an entry point to nikkei history in Japanese school, and help students draw connections between what they see on the page and their own family experiences.
• I really need to read a memoir or family history chronicle about the lives of the earliest Japanese immigrants to the US – my grandmother’s parents would have been part of this pre-camp generation and no one in the family seems to know much about their experiences.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this first.

They Called Us Enemy is a graphic novel memoir of George Takei’s childhood in Rohwer and Tule Lake, as well as a reflection on how these experiences influenced his later life.

What I liked:

• Takei’s child’s-eye view of the camps, combined with his present-day commentary, really brought together the experience(s) of JA incarceration for me in a way other works have not. His firsthand recollections illuminate the complex meanings of “resistance” in the JA community at this time, and the many ways incarcerated JAs kept moving forward in spite of (or in defiance of) their circumstances.
• One aspect of the book I especially enjoyed is Takei’s close observations and analysis of his father’s and mother’s actions. I think most nikkei would agree the camps played a significant role in shaping JA community mentality in the years after the war, and that this mentality continues to permeate our spaces in various ways. At the same time, I’m curious about the origins of this mentality – specifically, in the camps, when issei, nisei, and sansei intermingled in close quarters, what kinds of clashes of opinion occurred? Some of these conflicts are more widely documented than others, such as the loyalty questionnaires and enlisting in the US military. But on the day-to-day level, especially in the early years of the camps, when these people were just learning how to live with each other, what kinds of differences did they encounter in one another, and how did they react? In hindsight, it’s easy to generalize about certain groups, but at the time, I imagine there were so many points of divergence, and not just by generation.
• On a related note, I wonder what my grandfather would have thought of this book, especially the many sensitively depicted instances of cultural, personal, and ethical conflicts witnessed by Takei. The panels in which Takei confronts his father about leading their family into the camps rather than putting up a fight made me wonder if anyone in my family ever did the same thing. I assume my grandfather answered yes-yes to the questionnaire, since he was never relocated from Topaz, but what were his reasons for doing so? As Takei demonstrates through his own family’s situation, responding to the questionnaire went far beyond how loyal or disloyal any given JA might have felt toward the emperor. In my grandfather’s case, I don’t know how much English he understood by the time he was incarcerated – as far as I know, the questionnaires were not distributed in Japanese – and I wonder, if only English copies were available, how many issei fully understood what was being asked, or took it very seriously?
• Takei consistently reiterates how he, his family, and other incarcerated JAs questioned why they were put in camps. He highlights the confusion and uncertainty of the incarceration, and candidly discusses the racism underlining the US government’s actions. It’s difficult to determine solely from reading this book how far his activism extends (I have not been following him very closely on social media) – for example, where do indigenous peoples fit into his vision of social justice? – but I feel he has made a meaningful contribution to nikkei-authored literature on the camps, and I hope he continues to pursue his activism with the same directness demonstrated in his writing.
• “Sakana beach”…I didn’t get it at first, but it was absolutely hilarious afterwards.
• Harmony Becker’s art is incredibly engaging – especially her ability to capture a wide range of emotions via facial expressions. I’m so glad a nikkei artist was chosen for this work – I’m not sure I would have read it otherwise, given my feelings about non-Japanese-created visual depictions of the camps. I don’t know much about Becker’s background at the moment, but I noticed several techniques highly reminiscent of manga in this book and I wonder what, if any, Japanese art forms she considers an influence on her own work.
• I appreciate the closing reference to the unjust treatment of immigrants by the US government – I see more and more activism in the JA community linking our histories with current events, and I hope even more nikkei will be inspired to act after reading Takei’s story.

What I learned:

• Did I know some nikkei chose to renounce their US citizenship before the end of the war? I suppose this is implied for US-born nikkei who voluntarily went to Japan before the camps opened, which I did know about, but I can’t recall if I read about nikkei renouncing their citizenship in the camps. At any rate, new or old, this is definitely a topic I plan to read more about. My grandfather would never have had this choice as issei, but I wonder if he ever considered returning to Japan while he was in Topaz, or at any point before or after.
• I had no idea Takei marched with Dr. King! It would be interesting to read about this period in Takei’s life – I hope it’s covered in his autobiography, which is on my TBR list.

Questions I had:

• How much of the script did Takei draft himself? To what extent were the cowriters involved? How did Takei envision the role of his cowriters in this very personal project?
• How did Eisinger and Scott come to be attached to this project? Specifically, why were two (apparently) white men chosen to be cowriters on a work centering Japanese American experiences? There are plenty of graphic novelists of color, including nikkei, who might have been tapped for this project…it would be interesting to know how this team of creators was assembled.

Follow-up:

• According to the short bio at the end, Harmony Becker has created several comics, which I look forward to reading!
• Tule Lake is definitely a camp I need to learn more about – I’ve seen many nikkei writers discussing it, but I have yet to read a full history.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this first.

The Last Kappa of Old Japan, written and illustrated by Sunny Seki, is the story of a friendship between a village boy, Norihei, and a kappa, Kyū-chan.

What I liked:

• The Last Kappa really reminds me of the Japanese children’s stories I grew up with! I read the Japanese text first, just to see if the story felt similar to ones I remembered, and it did. Both the Japanese and English versions seem to fit the story well, not surprising if Seki wrote them himself.
• Bilingual children’s books, especially by 日本人 and 日系 authors, seem to me one of the most important cultural touchstones for young nikkei readers, even more so for readers growing up in bilingual households. I don’t see too many such books being published these days, but I know there are plenty of bilingual, up-and-coming nikkei creators, and I’m hopeful for the future.

What I learned:

• The note at the end of the book seems to indicate TMNT started out as kappa – is this true?! I had no idea, but I’ve also never looked into the history of the show. If so, hilarious!
• A quick look at Seki’s website shows he has won Rafu Shimpo’s “Artist of the Year” multiple times, for some absolutely adorable illustrations. I wonder if very many emerging nikkei artists actively participate in art competitions within the community, and if any in the LA area have approached Seki for mentorship. The website also includes a video link to an interview with NTB (in Japanese, no subtitles). I only watched part of the interview, but it includes some interesting information about Seki’s background and creative approach.

Questions I had:

• Is Seki still actively producing bilingual picture books? He clearly has the skills and background necessary to execute these types of projects. I also wonder if he is acquainted with Robert Kondō and Dice Tsutsumi at Tonko House. It would be wonderful to see these three creators collaborate on adapting Japanese stories.
• How does Seki view his work in relation to work by other nikkei creators? I often think bilingual Japanese creators are potentially the most effective bridges between Japan and the diaspora, but also, no individual creator is obligated to promote this type of exchange.
• What do the Japanese immigrants of today think of creators like Seki? I’m thinking particularly of young and middle-aged Japanese professionals, who have left their established lives in Japan for the US or another country due to a work transfer. Do they find some immediate form of familiarity in work by creators like Seki or the opposite?

Follow-up:

• Seki has published several other children’s books, which I’m looking forward to reading as soon as budget allows.