To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this first.

“I Am an American” is an essay contemplating the place of incarceration in the lives of past, present, and future Japanese Americans through an analysis of the Gambatte! photo exhibition at the Tucson Desert Art Museum.

What I liked:

• As any followers of Book Spotlight know, I don’t generally discuss essays or shorter pieces on here, but Brandon’s essay was so thought-provoking I thought I’d give it a shot. Also, he’s a terrific writer and I always think it’s a good idea to study my role models.
• If it seems like this section should be longer, well, I basically liked the entire essay – in the following sections, I’ve discussed in more detail the points I found especially interesting.

What I learned:

• I’ve been reading various discussions of gaman and shikata ga nai in Nikkei/camp literature and while I don’t disagree with what I’ve read, I think I finally understand why I felt kind of detached from these topics. I learned these terms like I learned the majority of my Japanese – from my Shin-Issei mom, so they were just words to me for a long time. My dad’s side of the family endured incarceration, but my dad doesn’t speak Japanese, so these words never came up in conversation. Anyway, all of that to say, it’s fascinating to me to think about how our individual (diaspora) experiences with language can so meaningfully shape our understandings of what it means to be Japanese. I’m also interested in Brandon’s specific point – how the use of these particular Japanese words in the particular context of the camps and war history has determined the (partial?) shape of Japanese-ness in the US. I wonder if he has thoughts on the endurance (either independent of or connected to specific words) of Japanese people in the face of US military/government power in a transnational context…and yes, I’m once again heading toward Hashimoto’s The Long Defeat. To also pull in a thread from one of the ongoing discussions in Book Twitter, I feel this is somewhat of a sticking point, at least in the context of Japanese/Nikkei communities, in the argument, “diaspora is separate from non-diaspora.” Obviously, they are not the same, and nor does Twitter allow for nuance, but specifically in a Japanese context, I often think our existence and experiences as diaspora are in fact much more connected to Japan than some narratives might seem to indicate, not least because of the now-global popularity of Japanese pop culture and what it means to exist outside Japan as a Japanese person in the context of said culture. Then again, I might simply be inferring from my own experiences without sufficient context – I have a lot more reading to do.

Questions I had:

• Who is Kitagaki’s intended audience? It seems he wants to memorialize Japanese Americans and incarceration in a respectful, enduring way, but does he wish to do so primarily for our community? I especially wonder what he expects Black audiences will think when they see the blackface photograph – or did he not imagine any Black people (including people of Black and Japanese descent) would view the exhibit? I am not suggesting the photograph necessarily be removed, since, as Brandon points out, the image testifies to, “the perverse psychosis that is settler colonialism,” which I believe our community absolutely needs to keep in mind and actively resist. However, whereas I feel Brandon’s essay is written in a way which makes room for Black readers to consider and respond to his discussion of antiblackness in the Japanese American community (if any Black people read this, please let me know if you think otherwise), I’m not sure the exhibit itself offers this space. I never viewed the actual exhibit, so I can’t be sure, but based on Brandon’s description of how the photograph was displayed, it doesn’t sound as if the blackface is being explicitly challenged or condemned. Although I don’t wish to erase the feelings of the relatives of those pictured, I believe our community can and needs to find ways to call out blackface and other instances of antiblackness without disrespecting the memories and experiences of our families.

Follow-up:

• I looked up Paul Kitagaki’s website after reading the essay, which answered one of my original questions – he apparently did come up with the overall concept of the exhibit. My immediate thought when Brandon wrote of the blackface photograph, “It is probably not the moment Kitagaki imagined as the keystone,” was whether Kitagaki or someone else chose to include that particular moment from history and what this selection implied about the person behind it. I don’t know how the photographs were arranged in the space or if there was an intended centerpiece, but I feel the inclusion of the blackface photograph, as well as Brandon’s commentary on it, raises the question of what has been the focal point of camp memorialization for Japanese Americans (if indeed such a point can be identified – I don’t feel I know enough right now to make this determination). In this particular case, I also wonder why Brandon suggests this photograph was not Kitagaki’s intended keystone (oddly, I thought of Keystone, South Dakota – I suppose settler colonialism was/is on my mind) – does he know Kitagaki well enough that this is a personal observation? Kitagaki is quoted in the essay – perhaps Brandon’s statement arises from remarks Kitagaki made during the interview/whatever source material Brandon drew quotes from? Or is it an inference drawn from his broader studies of incarceration, a commentary on how antiblackness, model minority, settler colonialism, and a host of other essential issues are (often?) not discussed, much less directly addressed, by the larger Japanese American community. Or it could be something else altogether. If Kitagaki has read this essay, I wonder what he thought.
• According to Kitagaki’s website (not sure how updated it is), he is hoping to publish a book containing the exhibit photographs. I hope he succeeds. I would be interested in reading any accompanying text.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this first.

A Jar of Dreams follows the experiences of Rinko Tsujimura and her family as they struggle to make a living while fighting anti-Japanese racism in Depression-era California.

What I liked:

• I first encountered Uchida’s books in middle school (as far as I remember) and as I was reading, memories I hadn’t considered in years came rushing back. In middle school, I spent a lot of time in the library during lunch and recess (wow, do they still call it recess?). I was mostly reading Robert Jordan, David Gemmell, and Dragonlance in those days, but I remember walking slowly along this one shelf, looking for books by Japanese authors. From what I can recall, the only ones I found were Uchida’s Rinko series and Shizuko’s Daughter by Kyoko Mori, neither of which really stood a chance against the likes of Tenaka Khan and Raistlin. In retrospect, I wonder if this experience was what prevented me from seeking out more JA/Nikkei authors until college. I’m so glad I decided to pick up Uchida’s books again. A huge thank-you to my fellow JA/Nikkei writers for all the articles and blog posts they created on camp history, which was really what drew me back into JA/Nikkei literature so many years later.
• THAT TAKUAN REFERENCE! I definitely know I’m reading a Japanese author.
• When I started the first chapter, I wasn’t immediately certain whether the characters were speaking Japanese or English. Most of the other JA/Nikkei historical fiction I’ve read features characters who don’t speak or understand much Japanese, so it was super gratifying when I realized they were speaking Japanese for the most part. I especially appreciate how Uchida writes as if taking this for granted, i.e. the scene where Rinko realizes Aunt Waka can speak English.
• So many layers and facets of Japanese/JA/Nikkei history are addressed in the text, with varying levels of detail, from the Japanese newspaper on the kitchen table at the very beginning, to references to Aunt Waka’s English education, to Kanda’s bachelor life in the Japanese church dormitory. The immersive feel of an insider perspective on our histories and communities reminded me so much of my own experiences and what I’ve heard from family members.
• A ‘jar of dreams’ is a lovely concept. I immediately thought of a jar of fireflies – even though Rinko’s jar has money in it – and from there thought of the various images associated with Japanese summer culture, especially events involving family. I wonder what inspired Uchida to use this term and I’d also like to know what fellow JA/Nikkei readers thought of when they read it.

What I learned:

• I’ve been reading bits and pieces of pre-war JA/Nikkei history, but I think the only work of notable length I’ve read on this era is Between Two Empires. I’ll have to review my TBR to see what else I’ve got on there. I don’t recall if Azuma addressed this in his book, but I wonder how many (if any) Japanese Americans returned to Japan during the Depression. I know some JAs returned to Japan for various reasons over the years, but was there a ‘mass exodus’-type movement at any point other than when many returned because of the war?

Questions I had:

• At what age do other JA/Nikkei readers tend to encounter Uchida’s work and that of other historical/canon Japanese American authors? I wonder how many of us have shared the experience of finding these books super boring the first time around, but being very happy to return to them later. I also wonder in what sort of context other JA/Nikkei readers encounter our community’s literature. My mom pretty much only reads books in Japanese and I’ve never thought to ask my dad if he ever read JA/Nikkei authors because I never saw any of their books at home, so I had zero background information when I first came across names like Uchida and Mori. I wonder if JA kids growing up in heavily JA-influenced areas like Little Tokyo or those whose families are heavily involved in the community via Buddhist temples, Obon, etc., might have heard of these authors before ever picking up their books. I never really talked to anyone besides family and friends when I danced in Obon, but something tells me the name Yoshiko Uchida would not be unfamiliar to some of my fellow participants.
• Based on the cover artist’s name and the age of the book, I’m assuming they are a white person. I don’t really expect better of books from so long ago, but considering Uchida’s work is relevant to today’s readers (and continues to be available via major retailers like Amazon), it would be nice to see new editions with covers by JA/Asian/POC artists. Did other JA/Nikkei readers feel like Rinko and Aunt Waka don’t exactly look like actual Asians? I can tell they are meant to be Asian, especially in contrast to the white characters in the background (I read a paperback edition; see my twitter for a photo of the cover), but to me they seem to represent a white/non-Asian person’s attempt to depict Asians, rather than being a recognizable image of actual Asians. In fact, the most visually similar representation of “Asians” I can recall is some depictions of Asian characters by non-Asian artists in Marvel/DC comics. Put another way, Rinko and Waka’s facial features make me think of white people dressed as Asians, or those terrible films featuring yellowface. I remember being puzzled by these depictions when I first read the Rinko series, but since I was also regularly exposed to media from Japan, I simply expected the ‘white American’ style of representing Asians to be somewhat off from the reality and didn’t consider it worth holding to the same standard.
• A quick search indicates Uchida passed in 1992. Did she imagine or hope her books would remain in circulation more than twenty years later? If she knew how widely known she is today, what would she say? What advice would she have for today’s JA/Nikkei writers? Did she have any hopes for or concerns about the future of JA/Nikkei literature?
• When Waka reminds Rinko to know she is always Japanese, even if she never wears a kimono again, I realized this particular conversation isn’t one I see very much during conversations about identity in Nikkei/diaspora/Asian American spaces. Rather, there seems to be a focus on diaspora Asians building community with each other through shared experiences or later generations expanding/reevaluating their identities when in conversation with earlier generations, i.e. second-gen child discussing family history with first-gen parent. This is not a critique of ongoing dialogues in diaspora Asian spaces, but rather an exploration of how to conceptualize the spaces inhabited by people like Waka. To put it specifically in JA/Nikkei terms, Rinko’s mother is obviously Issei, but I doubt any of us would use Issei to describe Waka because she isn’t an immigrant.* In my personal experience, visits from relatives like Waka, as well as being able to visit Japan, played a significant role in shaping my understanding of what it means to be Japanese, and I would love to hear thoughts on this topic from fellow JA/Nikkei with similar connections to Japan. I also wonder whether it is more or less common for families to visit each other internationally today than it was in Rinko’s time. On one hand, many families who are now at the Sansei, Yonsei, Gosei, etc., stage would (theoretically, assuming they stayed in contact) have had much closer ties to Japan in the late nineteenth or early twentieth century than they might have now, especially if connections were lost during the war; conversely, with today’s technological advancements and (relative/selective) ease of access via study abroad, overseas job recruitment, etc., even children can make the international journey. This is obviously a very simplified comparison – I hope some Japanese or Nikkei scholar has written a book on the topic.
• Rinko draws a distinction between her ‘American’ and ‘Japanese’ parts. Although I wouldn’t expect otherwise from a child narrator, it would be nice if, along with a Nikkei/POC-illustrated cover, the publisher could update some of the text to be more inclusive, or maybe a JA/Nikkei author could be commissioned to write a foreword or afterword addressing aspects of the original text which have not “aged” well, per se. This is, of course, linked to an ongoing problem in US publishing and in US mainstream culture in general – the assumption of ‘American’ as white by default. In this particular case, the Tsujimura family (perhaps not unexpectedly) seems to uncritically endorse ‘American Dream’ rhetoric, which erases their role and the overall role of nonwhite people in perpetuating settler colonialism in the so-called US. Examples include some of their key ‘victories’ in the story, such as the establishment of the home laundry and the repair garage. To any JA/Nikkei reading this and getting angry at me, pointing out this aspect of the book does not undermine the difficulties and obstacles endured by our community and other nonwhite people in the US. I’m not trying to diminish our history or disrespect our ancestors – my own grandfather ran a laundry in my hometown after being released from Topaz. That said, it would be dishonest and disrespectful to our community’s values (at least as I understand them), if we fail to acknowledge our past and current roles in upholding settler colonialism and if we do not actively engage in decolonization work with both indigenous and settler communities.
• To further clarify, I am not (necessarily) critiquing Uchida for the pro-settler representation discussed above. I have no way to confirm her beliefs regarding indigenous peoples – all I can really say is, nowhere does the text challenge the ‘right’ of Japanese and other nonwhite people to pursue the ‘American Dream,’ and because of this lack of a counter-narrative, I feel it is the responsibility of the non-indigenous reader to raise these questions.

Follow-up:

• I think I’ll read The Best Bad Thing next – or at least, the next time I’m in the mood for another JA historical novel. When I was younger, I could read my way through an entire series without stopping, but these days, I find I have to break it up by reading a book or two by a different author in between. Sometimes I really do wonder what happened to my attention span…

For anyone who may have been following Book Spotlight and thinks I am singling out Uchida, I am not. Just like many of you, I’m learning as I go, meaning that over time, my posts will contain more nuanced discussions of how Nikkei books approach decolonization and other social justice topics. If I were to rewrite some of my older posts, I would doubtless have much more to say about how other JA/Nikkei authors have endorsed/opposed/questioned the relationship between ‘Japanese American’ identity and settler colonialism. This blog and Book Spotlight as a series were never meant to be static, consistent representations of a particular way of thinking. If you are looking for JA/Nikkei who have more of their shit together, I recommend checking out some of the people on my JA Reading List. Happy reading!

*I suspect this situation isn’t more widely discussed in general diaspora Asian spaces because not every diaspora Asian family maintains ties to relatives in the cultural/ethnic homeland. I’m not sure if it’s accurate to label this as a kind of privilege – I think it can be a privilege or a means of oppression depending on the situation, much like fluency in non-English languages can be for people in English-dominant countries – but nevertheless, it isn’t something which can be discussed without, I imagine, making large groups of people feel excluded or less-than.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this first.

The Fog, written by Kyo Maclear and illustrated by Kenard Pak, follows the adventures of a girl and a bird as they fight to free their home from a mysterious fog.

What I liked:

• Kenard Pak is a fantastic artist. In fact, I really think his use of colors and composition is what made the book, even more so than the story itself. It looks like his background is in animation, which would explain how his images function so perfectly as storytelling devices. I almost feel he could have created this book solo, without any words.
• There is no mention of race in the text, but I never imagined the main human character as anything but Asian. I wonder if other POC/Asian readers felt the same way.
• I feel this book would do well if translated into Japanese. When I consider possible translations in my head, the story almost flows better in Japanese – maybe because, to me, there is more linguistic latitude (does that even make sense?) for leisurely storytelling in Japanese as opposed to English. This is probably an extremely subjective point, since I’ve noticed I can read slower-paced stories in Japanese, but I quickly get bored with them in English. Also, I think the quiet underlying message about environmentalism would fit in well with the subgenre of Japanese children’s literature which I think of as, ‘make the world better.’

What I learned:

• Quite frankly, I found the story a bit slow, though the cinematic effects of some of the illustrations reminded me of the movie Happy Feet, with its strong visuals and message about environmentalism. I don’t think kid-me would have found the story particularly appealing, either. Apparently, I like my picture books to be a bit more attention-grabbing in terms of plot.

Questions I had:

• Whose idea was it to caption the human characters? I thought this was the most effective device in terms of conveying the bird-rather-than-human perspective.
• Did Maclear or Pak come up with the initial concept of this book? What was their collaboration process like? Did one deliberately seek out the other as a fellow POC in the children’s literature field?
• How have Asian kids responded to this book? Do many of them automatically see themselves in the main human character? Do their parents and/or other supervising adults make a point of drawing their attention to the Asian author AND illustrator?
• How many young readers pick up on the book’s environmental themes? Do their parents and/or other supervising adults make a point of discussing these themes with them?

Follow-up:

• Pak has written and illustrated several picture books of his own, so I’ll be checking those out!
• I haven’t gotten much of a sense of Maclear’s writing style from her picture books, so it looks like I’ll be reading one of her novels sometime.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this first.

“Fear Itself,” a short story by Hana Chittenden Maruyama, illuminates the intergenerational trauma(s) of camp history in Japanese American communities by alternating the memories of an incarcerated twelve-year-old girl with the post-9/11 reflections of her grandchild.

What I liked:

• I bookmarked this story some months ago and forgot about it until a slow moment at work. When I finally hunted it out (note to self: reorganize bookmarks) and started reading, I got all the way to the end before remembering I had a job to do because THIS AUTHOR GETS IT. I’m not sure if this is what other readers mean when they talk about seeing themselves in a story, or feeling seen by a story, but I connected at a heartfelt level with Maruyama’s work and I highly recommend it to any fellow JA/Nikkei if the camps are part of your family’s history.
• Reading the first paragraph, I definitely thought the story was historical fiction in the tradition of Weedflower or Farewell to Manzanar, and it was a pleasant “gotcha” when I hit the second paragraph and realized some type of cross-generational dialogue was about to take place. I have nothing against historical fiction, but as someone who often contemplates the different ways historical silence has shaped JA/Nikkei spaces and experiences, as well as how we as individuals and as a community can have these conversations before it’s too late, I’m especially excited whenever I come across a fellow JA/Nikkei writer who appears to be considering similar questions.
• Maruyama pulls no punches when it comes to articulating the emotional and mental tolls of incarceration on her characters. According to one of her tweets, the story is based on her grandmother’s experiences, which, at least to me, explains the rawness of the emotions on the page. It’s difficult to put this next point into words, but I’d say the personal nature of the narrative also comes through in the Japanese-ness of her character portrayals. Lines spoken by Kiyo and Fudeko as they recall their experiences are straightforward and spare, with no sense of embellishment on behalf of the reader. Any fellow JA/Nikkei who have heard older JA relatives speaking English probably have an idea of what I mean.* In fact, I found myself thinking Maruyama’s style is very similar to my own when I try to write about (or around) the camps in my fiction.
• A few times in the text, I wondered how Maruyama managed to write exactly what I’ve thought or felt about the camps and JA/Nikkei history any number of times, so I’ve decided to highlight them here. From paragraph four: “[…] a line firmly drawn by all that has gone unsaid.” This line is extremely relatable to my own family history, especially considering I have no memory of ever speaking to those surviving relatives who were formerly incarcerated. From paragraph six: “Instead we read the stories others set loose, and over time those stories have become our own.” Here, I was like, ‘Maruyama, are you WATCHING me?!’ But seriously, this is very much a part of what I’ve been doing with my attempt to read more JA/Nikkei literature over the past few years. I also considered it in relation to Nikkei perspectives on Japanese/homeland culture, specifically regarding Nikkei consumption of anime/manga and Nikkei retellings/recreations of Japanese mythology in books and other media. (I realize this latter bit is probably completely out of context relative to what Maruyama intended, but that’s how my mind works.)
• Kats! Haha. Bilingual JA/Nikkei who remember being bewildered by this phenomenon when you first witnessed it in your own family, join me for a laugh.
• Yay Kiyo and his friends for disrupting the pledge! I could see that scene making it into a picture book. I wonder if Maruyama is familiar with the Ken Mochizuki/Dom Lee collaborations.
• The excerpts from the family’s incarceration records instantly reminded me of the records my dad looked up and sent to me about my grandfather. We also viewed them together after returning from the Manzanar pilgrimage last April. Did Maruyama include them in a nod to JA readers, or for some other reason?
• Once or twice while reading, I lost track of whose perspective was on the page and had to backtrack a little. This is probably only because I was reading quickly out of excitement, but in retrospect I wonder if Maruyama also intended for there to be blurred lines to some extent. I tend to dislike narrative ambiguity, but in this case I think it works for the story by emphasizing how camp history impacts multiple generations in our community, and how familial bonds might simultaneously intensify and relieve the shared trauma.

What I learned:

• Were high school students really recruited to build barracks? This is the first I’ve heard of such a thing, but it just reminds me I need to read some long-form nonfiction on the camps themselves, not just fiction, memoirs, and short pieces.
• Was the Kiyokazu/Seiichi mix-up a common phenomenon during immigration? I was recently talking to my mom about why Japanese media writes even the all-Japanese names of Nikkeijin in katakana (if you guessed Ishiguro, congrats), and of course it was an “oh, duh!” moment when she explained about not knowing the correct kanji or hiragana. I wonder if there’s a JA/Nikkei-written book about the translation and evolution of Japanese names in diaspora spaces, with everything from the katakana thing to people altering/anglicizing their names for various reasons…and how such changes might be viewed in relation to how Nihonjin use katakana and non-Japanese words (especially English) for completely different reasons.

Questions I had:

• If any Muslims and/or Middle Eastern people read this story, what did they think of the 9/11 reference toward the end? Personally, though I agree the JA community has absolute reason to speak against and oppose any kind of ‘camps’ targeting Muslim communities, I felt the insertion, coming as it did so late in the story, to be slightly gratuitous. I would have preferred if the final lines of the story provided a more definitive tie-in between JA history and the Muslim community’s present/possible future, rather than seemingly cycling back to an introspective moment on the narrator’s part. I almost wonder if the insertion was done at an editor’s request, or perhaps as a last-minute decision by Maruyama without taking the time to more thoroughly integrate it into the larger narrative. At any rate, I hope any Muslim and/or Middle Eastern readers who did read the story were not hurt by it.

Follow-up:

• Is Maruyama planning to write a longer piece on JA history? I would love to read a novel or novella expanding on the characters and experiences chronicled in “Fear Itself.”
• Apparently I’m just thinking a lot about silence now, but seeing as the other half of my lineage is Nihonjin/Shin-Nikkei, I wonder if any Japanese writers of any background have produced or considered a book about the silences between Nikkeijin and Nihonjin regarding not only the war,** which would surely be a focal point, but also notions of immigration, departures, diaspora, authenticity, language, etc. I have various books about Nikkei history and experiences on my TBR, but I don’t recall any of them having a particular focus on silence and what it means specifically in the context of being Japanese. Maybe such a book is untenable as a concept – it seems to me, though, that I can’t be the only JA/Nikkei who has ever experienced the many ways Japanese people utilize silence to define community boundaries. If this book doesn’t exist yet, a Japanese writer better jump on it before some non-Japanese person tries to twist it into yet another ‘look how quirky/exotic/fascinating Japanese culture is’ take because fuck that. Instead, I would love to read a collaborative work by Japanese writers of diverse backgrounds, through which process our communities find more inclusive ways of understanding each other’s Japanese-ness.
• I need to try sukiyaki with daikon oroshi on top!

*It’s not an accent, exactly, but rather a direct, efficient use of words. I didn’t even realize there was a ‘JA English’ (distinct from the English spoken by Shin-Nikkei or Nihonjin) until a white (former) friend made fun of the way I spoke and I figured out it was because I learned English from my dad, who grew up in one of these older JA households.

**I guess another way to think of this hypothetical book is as a logical expansion of Akiko Hashimoto’s The Long Defeat, which I greatly admired for its astute meditations on topics often left unspoken or glossed over in Japanese spaces.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this first.

The Wish Tree, written by Kyo Maclear and illustrated by Chris Turnham, is the story of Charles and Boggan, two friends searching for the wish tree on a snowy day.

What I liked:

• To be perfectly honest, I assumed Charles was a girl when I first saw the book cover. I purchased the book without ever reading a synopsis and I just assumed it was a story about a little girl. I’m still a bit disappointed it wasn’t, as I think it’s important for girls to be taught they can have outdoor adventures, whereas the premise of this book seems to reinforce the pro-gender-binary notion, “playing outdoors is for boys.” At the same time, the fact I did mistake Charles for a girl also strikes me as a good sign because it suggests boys can have a variety of appearances, which is not really something I saw in USian children’s books as a kid. I’m not sure if this visual ambiguity is deliberate on Turnham’s part – maybe I’m the only reader who thought Charles was a girl? – but I do think the fact of it might mean this book is a good choice for parents whose children choose their own gender identity. Also, it only occurred to me now (I definitely still have work to do in terms of understanding different forms of gender identity) – who says “Charles” needs to be a boy’s name? Why not just a name?
• The scene where Charles and Boggan join the animals in a forest feast is so joyful and heartwarming! For some reason, I loved feast scenes as a kid, and I still do. I also kept thinking of the Johnny Depp* version of Alice in Wonderland while I was reading – maybe because of the Mad Hatter tea party scene? Anyway, it was an odd mental contrast.
• Maclear’s writing is spare and graceful. I haven’t read any of her other books (yet), but I’d be interested in finding out if this style is characteristic of her novel-length work.

What I learned:

• I chose this book because I wanted to read something by a Japanese Canadian author before the new year, but in the end, I’m not sure Maclear’s writing was the major draw. Funnily, I wanted The Fog instead because the illustrator is also Asian and I wasn’t sure of Turnham’s racial/ethnic background, but The Wish Tree was what was on sale at Powell’s that day, so here I am. I wouldn’t say I find Turnham’s art especially to my taste, but I do feel it was appropriate to the story. His compositions are admirable – he’s quite skillful at utilizing trees and snowy mounds to evoke the sights and sounds of a winter forest – and I wonder if he specializes in landscape art.

Questions I had:

• How did this book come about? My assumption would be Maclear pitched the idea to her agent and the editorial team located an illustrator, but it could be Maclear and Turnham are friends or something. I did a very quick search to try to determine Turnham’s race (no mention on his website or Twitter, and no selfies, but I’m pretty sure he’s white) and noticed he is located in LA, which made me wonder about the book’s conception. As far as I know, Maclear is currently located in Canada.
• Who is the intended audience of this book? Along with my initial assumption about Charles being a girl, I also half-wondered if he was a white illustrator’s attempt to draw an Asian kid. Judging by the blond sister, Charles is white. I did try to reimagine the characters as Asian for fun, but I have a hard time buying into the idea of parents letting their child dye her hair at such a young age. Still, it’s fun to think of a westernized Asian family having these adventures.
• If Maclear did in fact pitch the initial concept, did she make any attempt to choose a POC/Asian illustrator? I also wonder if her agent and/or editorial team requested revisions to make the story more white-friendly. When I first saw the cover illustration, with the paper dangling from the branch, I briefly thought of 七夕, though the winter setting would be all wrong.
• What was the purpose of including Charles’s repetitive humming in the text? I couldn’t figure out if I was supposed to recognize the tune. I feel these types of lines could be stumbling blocks for parents trying to read aloud to their kids, but on the flip side, it could be a fun readalong for kids who haven’t quite learned their words yet.

Follow-up:

• In light of the sparsity of text, I wouldn’t consider The Wish Tree a great example of Maclear’s writing, so I’m looking forward to reading one of her novels next!

*This is not an endorsement of Johnny Depp. Although I would agree he is a talented actor, I think we all know by now that a good actor does not a good human make.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this first.

Kenta and the Big Wave, written and illustrated by Ruth Ohi, is a quiet and touching account of the 3/11 tsunami in Japan.

What I liked:

• Ohi’s illustrations and palette are full of soft edges and gentle colors, or, as I thought to myself while reading, 何かすごくおとなしくてやさしいようなお話だよね 。 The aesthetics felt perfect for telling a serious story without frightening young readers. Full-page illustrations with close-up perspective lend immediacy to the events of the story, as if the reader is in the same space as Kenta, viewing the tsunami and its devastating results in real time. The quiet, subtle style with which Ohi renders people and their surroundings keeps the story from becoming too graphic or grim.
• Ohi’s writing is simple and straightforward without euphemizing the extent of the damage for those who weren’t there. On one page, Kenta’s mother weeps at the destruction of their home and Kenta’s father says they will need to start over because nothing can be salvaged – this scenario is true for many families who lived in the tsunami zone. Kenta and his family spend time living in a makeshift evacuation shelter, the details of which Ohi is careful to include in her illustration. At the same time, Ohi infuses her story with what I interpret as a spirit of みんなで頑張ろう! I imagine most Nikkei readers familiar with Japanese culture will notice this and it might also be a way to open intergenerational/transnational conversations about what this concept has meant to Japanese/Nikkei communities over time. On a side note, I’m not even sure this concept/phrase has the same significance in Canadian Nikkei history as it does in JA history with regard to each community’s respective experiences with the camps.

What I learned:

• I knew a number of Nikkei creators responded to 3/11 by producing work, but I hadn’t really considered trying to track any of it down until I came across this book. (I also remember reading about several white people organizing/creating ‘charity’ work for 3/11, including white expats in Japan and white translators of Japanese literature, which made me not want to look too deeply into 3/11-related work for a long time.) Now that I have a better sense of ‘who’s who’ in the Nikkei literary and arts scene, I might try to find other works in which our community addresses what happened.

Questions I had:

• Is the kid who finds Kenta’s soccer ball supposed to be white? I initially read him as white based on his appearance and the English-language signs behind him, but then I thought it would be fun if he was an Asian kid who decided to dye his hair blond. I’ve never lived in a majority-Nikkei/Asian diaspora community, but in my experience, not many Nikkei dye their hair the way Nihonjin do, and the same fashion culture around hair dyeing doesn’t exist in our communities outside Japan. I like to imagine the blond kid is either Nihonjin and happens to have recently moved overseas, or a Nikkei kid with very close ties to Japanese culture. Both fun story ideas, come to think of it. Anyway, I wonder what race/ethnicity Ohi intended this kid to be, and what she would think of other interpretations by her readers!
• Is there a Japanese translation of this book? What did Nihonjin readers think, especially any who may have been directly impacted by 3/11?

Follow-up:

• I enjoyed Ohi’s book and I’ll keep an eye out for any other Japan-related work she may produce. She is Japanese Canadian and I believe she has worked on a book by Joy Kogawa…

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this first.

Asian Settler Colonialism is a collection of academic essays by Native Hawaiian and (mostly) Asian settler writers outlining the impacts of the Asian settler presence on Native Hawaiian communities and lands.

Note: When discussing specific essays in this post, I focus on work by Japanese/Nikkei contributors, in keeping with the (current) purpose of Book Spotlight.

What I liked:

• Somehow, I didn’t realize until the book arrived that it actually consists of two sections, one dedicated to Native Hawaiian* essays and the other to settler essays. I assumed the book consisted of Asian settlers in Hawaii addressing their complicity in and resistance to the historical and ongoing systemic oppression of Native Hawaiians. I absolutely appreciate the education I received from the Native Hawaiian half of the book; however, and maybe even because of the Native Hawaiian contributors’ powerful voices, I now feel the treatment of Asian settler colonialism by Asian settler writers was too light or brief by comparison.** Put another way, I could read an entire book or two written solely by Asian settlers on Asian settler colonialism. No, it’s not about creating the Asian version of ‘white guilt’ – I simply believe Asian settler colonialism needs to be addressed much more deeply and broadly by Asian settlers IN academia. As the Asian settler contributors suggest, the most effective way for all settlers to support Native Hawaiian sovereignty is to openly acknowledge their/our complicity in colonialism/US imperialism and follow the Native Hawaiian lead instead of coopting the movement. To echo Fujikane’s statement in the introduction, I hope this book serves as a starting point for impactful Asian settler support of Native Hawaiian sovereignty. I would love to see many more Asian settlers in academia not only openly acknowledge their complicity in settler colonialism, but also explicitly situate their scholarship within a living decolonization/Native Hawaiian sovereignty movement. I also hope to see more Native Hawaiian voices, along with all other indigenous voices, regularly featured on wide-reaching platforms without being distorted or silenced by pro-settler interests.
• Fujikane openly acknowledges Haunani-Kay Trask’s critique of one of her past articles as part of the introduction. I interpret this inclusion as part of an effort to normalize productive dialogue rooted in constructive criticism of settler scholarship by Native activists. I note this only because I haven’t observed many instances of such exchanges in what I’ve read. As the intent seems to be normalizing decolonization in academia, I wouldn’t label Fujikane herself as exceptional or praiseworthy for the gesture, as this would be no different from lauding white people for including characters of color in their novels.

What I learned:

• “The Militarizing of Hawaii” – Kyle Kajihiro
  • I appreciated the history lesson on the US military presence in Hawaii, not to mention I had no idea Japan utilized Hawaii for military exercises. That said, I wish I had more of a sense of Kajihiro’s personal investment in the issues covered. His bio describes him as “Hawaii Japanese,” a term I’ve never heard before. What do Native Hawaiians think of this label? Although Asian settler colonialism exists at all levels, from individual to systemic, I feel academic writing often highlights big-picture ideas in a way that allows individuals, particularly academics themselves, to elude personal accountability. I don’t know, of course, if Kajihiro intended this, but I feel it would be most responsible for every settler contributor in this book to acknowledge, however briefly, their awareness of their complicity as individuals in settler colonialism in Hawaii. Anyone writing so directly about settler colonialism ostensibly doesn’t buy into the fantasy of scholarly ‘objectivity’ in which academics’ personal backgrounds magically fail to shape their perspectives in any way. On the flip side, I can see how Kajihiro’s generalized study might illuminate the scope of US imperialism via militarization to readers unfamiliar with the topic.
• “Sites of Erasure” – Karen Kosasa
  • This was one of my favorite settler essays in the book. I especially enjoyed Kosasa’s acknowledgment of her and Tomita’s ongoing self-examinations of their creative frameworks. I look forward to her book on the topic. If Kajihiro’s essay seemed to focus excessively on big-picture issues at the expense of personal accountability, Kosasa’s work is a well-balanced study of both systemic and individual issues, not to mention an analysis of how they intersect. I did think Kosasa might self-identify as a settler in her bio, but I guess not.
• “Ideological Images” – Eiko Kosasa
  • Another of my favorite settler essays! Similar to how I felt after reading Between Two Empires and The Long Defeat, Kosasa’s essay explicitly addressed aspects of Japanese/Nikkei history which I had intuited but never considered at length. Also, my art history background gravitates to any scholarship involving visual analysis, and Kosasa’s examination of the Teragawachi photographs is no exception. I loved her discussion of the kanji pictured in Figure 4. Her analysis linking JA/Nikkei historical narratives to the ‘American Dream’ should be required reading for the next JA/Nikkei generation, not to mention of interest to any JA/Nikkei researching post-camp assimilation experiences and/or the politics of (performative?) patriotism as enacted in the creation and memorialization of the 442nd.
• “Ethnic Boundary Construction in the Japanese American Community in Hawaii” – Jonathan Okamura
  • This essay really helped illuminate the extent of Japanese American power in Hawaii for me, as a JA/Nikkei who grew up in the Bay (in a part where Japanese/Asians were not the majority). It was difficult for me to read the essay with anything beyond a growing sense of confusion and indignation, since I’ve experienced the decidedly unpleasant consequences of non-Japanese dominating (or thinking they dominate) the dissemination of Japanese culture, but my own reaction showed me exactly how different it is to be JA/Nikkei in Hawaii as compared with my hometown. I’d definitely like to know if there is an anthology or book featuring JA/Nikkei from diverse areas of the diaspora in conversation with each other about our experiences.
• “Colonial Amnesia” – Dean Itsuji Saranillio
  • I really appreciate Saranillio’s open acknowledgment of his personal background in the second paragraph of this essay. It is straightforward, yet brief, and enriches rather than diminishes his broader analysis of Filipino involvement in settler colonialism in Hawaii. He also cites US imperialism in the Philippines as grounds for Filipino solidarity with Native Hawaiians, an argument which I feel could easily be applied to many other diaspora groups in the US/Hawaii. I’m surprised Saranillio’s bio doesn’t include self-identification as a settler.
• “Local Japanese Women for Justice Speak Out against Daniel Inouye and the JACL” – Ida Yoshinaga & Eiko Kosasa
  • Full disclosure – I had very little idea who Daniel Inouye was beyond his name and something about politics prior to reading this book. I’m glad this particular essay was my first opportunity to read about him in detail, since it sounds like he has been uncritically glorified by many in our community. Now I want to know what my JA friends in Hawaii think of him. I also haven’t read much about the JACL, though I do recall reading about their complicity in JA incarceration. I’ve been looking for a book chronicling the history of various JACL chapters, but I haven’t found one yet. If any fellow JA/Nikkei know of one, let me know!

Questions I had:

• What was the selection process for the essays? According to the editorial notes, at least some of the essays are reprints. Who had the most influence in selecting contributors? The Asian settler editors? The Native Hawaiian contributors? The people whose names appear in the acknowledgments? Were all the essays solicited from their writers? If not, what was the application process? Who was rejected and why? I didn’t expect this information to be transparently presented in the book, but it would be interesting to read an interview with Fujikane, Okamura, and the other key players in the selection process.
• On a related note, what exactly were the motivations of the individual settler contributors regarding inclusion in this book? What kind of commitment do each of them hold with respect to Native Hawaiian sovereignty, decolonization, and resisting US imperialism? How do they reconcile their respective privileges with their belief (or not) in indigenous self-determination? In what ways do they implement resistance and solidarity in their professional practices as educators, scholars, creators, and activists? What do the Native Hawaiian contributors think of each of the settler contributors? Did the contributors ever come together as a group? If so, what kind of dynamic existed amongst them?
• As far as I can tell, David Stannard is a white guy. Why does a book on ASIAN settler colonialism need a white perspective, particularly when his essay slot could have gone to a Native Hawaiian contributor? There is no aspect of settler colonialism in which an indigenous person or person of color can’t offer a perspective equally or more profound than what a white person has to say. I didn’t bother reading his essay, but if any Native Hawaiian or Asian readers did, what are your thoughts?
• Did anyone else notice the varied wording of the contributors’ bios?*** I’m not sure whether the contributors and/or editors have any input on the wording of the bios, or if someone at the publishing house copy-pastes them from various sources, but I immediately thought of how some academics present themselves well on the surface (i.e. their scholarship), but less so in more personal contexts. Of all the settler contributors, only Eiko Kosasa self-identifies as a settler in her bio. I’m not an academic, but I wonder if there’s any actual career risk to self-identifying as a settler in one’s professional bio, especially if said bio is part of a book of pointed essays on settler colonialism. The settler contributors may also have other reasons I’m unaware of, yet it seems like a step backwards after their (mostly) excellent and straightforward essays. If any indigenous/POC academics are reading this and can offer clarification, let me know!

Follow-up:

• Read more work by Native Hawaiian activists – Haunani-Kay Trask seems especially interesting – as well as Iyko Day’s Alien Capital and any other indigenous- or Asian-written work on Asian settler colonialism. Also, read up on Okinawa, global indigenous activism, and Japan’s militarization.

*I use “Native Hawaiian” in this post to refer to the indigenous people of Hawaii. The contributors utilize Native Hawaiian, Hawaiian, and Kanaka Maoli at various points, for reasons many of them explain in text or in their notes. As a non-indigenous person with no ties to Hawaii, I felt “Native Hawaiian” was the most appropriate term for me to use because it acknowledges their unique status as indigenous people, which might not be as clear (to non-indigenous readers) if I simply used “Hawaiian,” while avoiding what seems like a presumptive use of their language as an outsider if I wrote “Kanaka Maoli.” Considering the diverse terminology in the book, there doesn’t seem to be a consensus on the most widely accepted term to use as an outsider/settler, so I have based my decision off of my personal background only.

**To clarify, I’m not critiquing the structure of the book. Fujikane clearly explains the reasoning behind the division in the introduction and it makes perfect sense to me.

***In the paperback edition, they are located after the final essay.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this first.

In Firelight, Emily and her companions journey to Algos Island to decipher Max’s final, cryptic message about Trellis’s lost childhood memories.

Note: This post compiles my thoughts on various volumes of this series, with a focus on the events of books 6 and 7.

What I liked:

• THIS ISN’T THE LAST BOOK! I haven’t found any information on when book 8 will be released, but I’m just relieved to know the story continues. Kibuishi left us on one hell of a cliffhanger, so I hope the next book is on its way soon…
• Emily and Trellis might actually become friends? I’m a big fan of main characters being close friends, especially when the development of the friendship is laid out on the page. Same with other types of relationships, actually…any book featuring a slowly developing, intense relationship between main characters is probably going to pique my interest. I’m really looking forward to finding out how Emily being a giant fire bird impacts her burgeoning friendship with Trellis. On a side note, Trellis’s relationship with his dad is eerily similar to Zuko’s father/son relationship in ATLA, including the facial scarring. I don’t know which came first, Amulet or ATLA, but I’d be interested to know if Kibuishi is a fan of the show. Also, now I’m wondering how much better ATLA would have been if Kibuishi and other actual Asians had written and directed it…
• The elves’ eyes really creeped me out in the first few books, but by the time I got to this one, I hardly noticed them. I’m fairly visual and I usually stop reading a series if I can’t handle the images (進撃の巨人, I’m looking at you*), but kudos to Kibuishi for taking me on such an entertaining story ride that I stopped noticing what bothered me.

What I learned:

• As mentioned in my post on The Stonekeeper, I’m paying close attention to Kibuishi’s secondary-world/fantasy races and any latent colorism, racism, or other indications of internalized white supremacy. So far, apart from my previously expressed concern about the ‘good’ main character being a white girl, I haven’t noticed any red flags. It does feel as if much of Kibuishi’s worldbuilding, especially architecture and clothing, are modeled after Eurocentric/white aesthetics rather than non-Eurocentric/POC aesthetics, but considering Kibuishi’s background, I’m not sure if this should be interpreted as (un)conscious bias in favor of ‘western’ culture, as Nikkei/diaspora POC might demonstrate, or something closer to how Miyazaki and other 日本人 artists utilize Eurocentric references in their work. There may also be an entirely different explanation; I don’t know Kibuishi personally, so I can only speculate.

Questions I had:

• Why did Kibuishi make Navin the commander of the Resistance? I find it implausible that the experienced fighters would simply accept an outsider and a child as their leader, without putting up more of a fuss than is shown on the page. Prophecy or not, it just doesn’t strike me as good military strategy. Although I’m all for empowering young readers by presenting them with strong characters, with both Emily and Navin immediately assuming leadership roles while being visibly white and the nonhuman (though, arguably, white-coded) characters more or less acting subordinate to them, I wonder what kind of subliminal messages are being conveyed about who gets to be a ‘savior.’ This aspect of the series reminds me of the Magic Treehouse books (and not in a good way).
• Hayes seems rather passive about having to stay in a fantasy world while her children risk their lives to save it – are we going to learn why? I’m also not clear on what she’s doing while Emily and Navin are having adventures. Is she helping the Resistance? Is she sitting around in somebody’s house? I assumed she would have a more active role in the story, given that her kidnapping was what got her children into this situation. I’d be interested in knowing more about Kibuishi’s logic when he designed the Hayes family dynamics.
• Does Trisha survive her encounter with the shadows? I really hope Kibuishi didn’t eliminate her because there aren’t any Black-coded/dark-skinned human characters currently included in the main cast and I would love to see her story develop. Also, somebody needs to give her credit for actually activating the distress beacon!
• Did any fellow Asian/POC readers think Max looks Asian? His personality and behavior read as white-coded/very-assimilated-Asian-American to me, but his spiky black hair made me wonder. I did find his backstory compelling – I have a soft spot for ‘villains’ driven by personal grief – but I also hope Kibuishi introduces other ‘Asian’ looking characters who survive.

Follow-up:

• I guess I’m just waiting for book 8? Fortunately, I have at least two hundred other books by Nikkei writers on my TBR, not to mention even more books by non-Japanese POC writers, so there’s plenty to occupy me in the meantime.

*To be fair, the graphic images in 進撃の巨人 are central to the story and I’m not saying it’s “bad” (if this term can even be applied with any measurable meaning to any media) to depict violence on the page; it’s just not for me.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this first.

The Stonekeeper, written and illustrated by Kazu Kibuishi, is the first in the Amulet graphic novel series and introduces us to Emily, a girl with the ability to wield a mysterious, powerful stone gifted to her by her great-grandfather.

Note: As of the writing of this post, I’ve read books 1-3 of this series. Instead of writing a post for each book, I’ll probably do a post with continued/wrap-up thoughts after I finish book 7 (latest release).

What I liked:

• I’m still slightly in shock at how much I liked The Stonekeeper. Honestly, this book/series was on the ‘I’ll get to it when I get to it’ part of my TBR, and I picked it up because the bookstore didn’t have the title I really wanted that day. Now I’m seriously considering sending a copy to a cousin in Japan who loves manga.
• Kibuishi draws fantastic settings. I’m not a huge fan of his character designs, except for maybe a few of the robots, but I love how he draws backgrounds and Silas’s house. Also, he’s a master of the epic panorama scene. I have a feeling his worldbuilding techniques are influenced by Miyazaki and other manga/anime creators, and I wonder why he didn’t model his characters the same way.* I also wonder how much editorial input he had to accept before the book reached its final form. If he ever publishes a book chronicling his personal artistic journey and the development process behind Amulet, I’ll definitely take a look.
• SILAS’S HOUSE IS A GIANT ROBOT. HOUSE ROBOT. I didn’t check the dates, but the similarity to Miyazaki’s rendition of Howl’s moving castle (lowercase deliberate) is definitely present. (Or any of a number of characters from his other films – 風の谷のナウシカ or 天空の城ラピュタ anyone?) Kibuishi also hails from the culture which brought the world Gundam and other giant robot delights, so maybe it wasn’t Miyazaki. Either way, details like this from Kibuishi’s worldbuilding felt like small homages to our culture and absolutely made my reading experience more enjoyable.
• Did any fellow JA/Nikkei readers look at Miskit’s first appearance (in disguise) and immediately see a signature Miyazaki character type and/or possibly also a very common manga/anime reference? I realize I might simply be projecting my very great desire to see US Japanese/Nikkei creators engaging with the awesomeness of our cultural artistic heritage, but I seriously doubt the greats like Miyazaki had zero influence on Kibuishi’s work.

What I learned:

• This might be the first non-comic, non-manga graphic novel series to really capture my interest, and I credit Kibuishi’s masterful blend of gripping plot and beautiful artwork. I didn’t think I would ever find anything like Amulet outside of manga,** so it was a pleasant surprise to realize how much I was enjoying Kibuishi’s story. Now that I know I can appreciate this medium, I’m excited to look for similar works!

Questions I had:

• Did Kibuishi ever consider making Emily and her family Asian/POC? From what I’ve read so far, the story would proceed in exactly the same way if Emily happened to be, say, an Asian American girl instead of a white one. Given the popularity of the Amulet series (not that Kibuishi could have predicted it), this would have been a great opportunity to normalize POC representation in US children’s media. I haven’t looked up any interviews with Kibuishi, but I wonder if other Asian/POC readers have asked him the same question.
• On a related note, why did Kibuishi choose Emily’s dad’s death as the catalyst for their move to Silas’s house? I wonder if Kibuishi wants children who have lost a parent to see themselves in Emily and Navin, or if he had some other reason for constructing the plot this way. To return to my above point, I do think if Kibuishi wants readers to (re)consider what a ‘standard’ family can or should look like, making Emily and her family Asian/POC might have served the double purpose of normalizing single-parent POC households. After all, white people don’t need to be and shouldn’t be the only examples for teaching children about significant family events. I also can’t help thinking of how single-parent households are often stigmatized in Japanese culture, and how meaningful it could be if a high-profile Japanese/Nikkei creator like Kibuishi used his work to challenge this perception.
• Is Kibuishi’s work available in Japanese? I think Japanese kids would enjoy the Amulet series, if perhaps more for the perceived foreign-ness of it than for the qualities Nikkei kids might notice. For that matter, does Kibuishi envision 日本人 as one of his target audiences?
• Does Kibuishi identify as Japanese, Japanese American/Nikkei, or something else? From what little I’ve read about him, it sounds like he moved to the US from Japan at a young age. I’m assuming he grew up in a more Japanese than Nikkei household, if his parents are both Japanese. His background interests me because I’d like to know how he feels his personal experiences influence his art and writing. Given the history of colorism and anti-blackness in both Japanese and Nikkei communities, I paid particular attention to how Kibuishi created his fantasy/non-human races. As of now, I haven’t noticed any overt racism or cultural appropriation, and I hope the rest of the series bears this out. Part of me wonders if Kibuishi consciously populated his world with many non-human races to avoid the representational faux pas of works like ATLA. I guess I’ll have to wait and see if any kind of hierarchy emerges among the human, humanoid (like elves), and visually non-human (animals, robots) characters. I just hope we don’t discover white(-coded?) humans like Emily being held up as some kind of ideal race/species.

Follow-up:

• As will be evident by the time this post goes up, I’ve already purchased the rest of the series through book 7. I’m not sure if book 7 is the final installment…I hope not.

*To be clear, I don’t think there can be any kind of ‘objective’ standard for categorizing manga/anime-style characters as ‘better’ than characters drawn in other styles. I also don’t mean to say Japanese artists should only draw in recognizably manga or anime styles. Instead, I mean my personal aesthetic preferences, as influenced by my background and experiences, tend toward manga/anime-influenced styles as opposed to styles more popularized in the US by white artists. For example, I deeply admire Sana Takeda’s artwork in Monstress, which, though not what I would call manga or anime style, certainly appears to be in dialogue with both.

**The closest thing I’ve read in terms of English-language graphic novels is probably Gene Luen Yang’s American Born Chinese. I enjoyed Yang’s work, of course, but the genre, narrative style, and art work were so different, I hesitate to even mention it as a comparison.