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Citizen 13660, written and illustrated by Mine Okubo, documents Okubo’s experiences while imprisoned in Tanforan and Topaz.

What I liked:

• As with many of the books I read for this blog, Citizen 13660 sat in my TBR for years before I picked it up. I really think it was seeing repeated references to it in nikkei online spaces that encouraged me to finally start reading. Now that I’m done, I have to say I’m astounded that Okubo published such a work so close in time to her actual experiences – and equally astounded that the white authorities of the time allowed her to do so. I can’t quite fathom how white government officials interpreted this work as an example of ‘model’ citizenship, unless it was a severe case of seeing only what they wanted to see. Of course, I’m very glad that Okubo was afforded the opportunity to publish her work at the time and that her subsequent life and career seemed to turn out all right.
• I hope Citizen 13660 is a requirement in today’s US history classes, not just at the university level, but in middle school and high school (I imagine the reading level is a bit too high for elementary school) as well. Farewell to Manzanar undoubtedly has a place in the curriculum, but after having read both works, I feel Citizen 13660, particularly the physicality of Okubo’s illustrations, lends an immediacy to JA incarceration that I imagine might resonate with students who are just beginning to learn about this era of US history.

What I learned:

• My grandfather and his family were incarcerated at Tanforan and Topaz, just like Okubo. It’s curious to wonder if their paths ever crossed, knowingly or not. What did my grandfather think of the chlorine foot baths? Did he build makeshift geta to stay out of the mud? If he had lived to meet me, what would he think about my ongoing self-education about JA incarceration? (I put this under “What I learned” as opposed to “Questions I had” because I felt reading Citizen 13660 brought me one step closer to “learning” what my grandfather might have experienced during the war.)

Questions I had:

• Has JANM – or any other nikkei or Asian American museum – done an exhibit on nikkei-created graphic novels about JA incarceration? I would be interested to know how nikkei scholars might situate nikkei-created graphic novels about JA incarceration within a broader discussion of the evolution of US graphic novels over time.
• Additionally, has any Japanese scholar (nikkei or nihonjin) performed a comparative analysis of nikkei-authored documentary graphic novels and nihonjin-authored documentary graphic novels? An exhibit showcasing a multitude of “Japanese” graphic-novel-as-documentary examples, perhaps with World War II as the period of interest, would surely be fascinating, particularly any information about how Japanese graphic novelists moving between Japan and other countries helped to shape artistic influences for Japanese artists everywhere.

Follow-up:

• I don’t know that I have any Okubo-specific follow-up to do, but I plan to keep reading nikkei-authored fiction and nonfiction about JA incarceration.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

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

What I liked:

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

What I learned:

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

Questions I had:

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

Follow-up:

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

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

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

What I liked:

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

What I learned:

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

Questions I had:

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

Follow-up:

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

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

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

What I liked:

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

What I learned:

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

Questions I had:

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

Follow-up:

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

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

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

What I liked:

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

What I learned:

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

Questions I had:

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

Follow-up:

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

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

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

What I liked:

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

What I learned:

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

Questions I had:

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

Follow-up:

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

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

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

What I liked:

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

What I learned:

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

Questions I had:

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

Follow-up:

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

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

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

What I liked:

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

What I learned:

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

Questions I had:

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

Follow-up:

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