To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

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

What I liked:

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

What I learned:

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

Questions I had:

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

Follow-up:

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

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

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

What I liked:

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

What I learned:

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

Questions I had:

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

Follow-up:

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

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

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

What I liked:

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

What I learned:

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

Questions I had:

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

Follow-up:

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

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

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

What I liked:

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

What I learned:

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

Questions I had:

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

Follow-up:

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

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Keep It Together, Keiko Carter, by Debbi Michiko Florence, follows the story of seventh-grader Keiko and her two friends as they navigate changes in family, friends, school, and romance.

What I liked:

• When I was Keiko’s age, I hardly read any contemporary fiction. I was deep in my SFF phase and spent hours buried in books by Robert Jordan and Michael Crichton. The few contemporary novels I recall reading were mostly for school (which probably did not help me develop any appreciation for the genre). I never felt any connection to those books. I remember reading a few of Yoshiko Uchida’s books, which I found in the school library, as well as leafing through Shizuko’s Daughter, by Kyoko Mori, but there was too large a gap between the lives of these characters and my own experiences. Although Keiko’s circumstances are somewhat different from my own, I wonder if having books like Keep It Together, Keiko Carter in middle school would have helped me understand why predominantly white contemporary children’s fiction failed to resonate with me. I’m happy for today’s kids, who have a vast selection of books by authors of color to choose from, including books set in the present day.

What I learned:

• I rarely read contemporary children’s fiction (yes, even now), so this may not be specific to Keep It Together, Keiko Carter, but I was fascinated by the plot structure. As always, I read the jacket copy before starting the book, and I could not tell at all where the story was going to go, other than that Keiko was likely to undergo some personal development. This is not a ‘bad’ thing, but rather encouraged me to pay close attention to the various story threads, as I tried to guess what Florence wanted the reader to think and feel.

Questions I had:

• How did fellow nikkei readers feel about this book? Specifically, how did nikkei readers close in age to Keiko and her friends feel about this book?
• How does Florence situate her work in the existing body of nikkei, especially JA, literature? As a community, how might we see the concept of ‘nikkei literature’ evolve as more nikkei writers venture beyond works centered on our histories?

Follow-up:

• I already ordered Just Be Cool, Jenna Sakai, so keep your eyes open for a future post!

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

The Perfect Sword, written and illustrated by Scott Goto, is told through the eyes of swordsmith’s apprentice Michio as he learns who is worthy of the ‘perfect’ sword.

What I liked:

• Goto’s illustration style is so interesting. For anyone who follows me on twitter, it’s well-documented that I read lots of manga and also a good number of English-language graphic novels. I’ve also observed many diaspora Asian creators discuss having their work rejected for being too ‘Asian.’ (This type of thinking needs to be eliminated from the publishing world.) As I read more work by Asian American graphic novelists, for example, I find myself studying character design choices in particular, and wondering what motivated each creator when finalizing their sketches. In Goto’s case, he tells us in his author’s note that while he did not choose to draw in a Japanese style, he used facial expressions and symbolism to bring his interpretation of ‘Japanese-ness’ to the story. I certainly noticed familiar imagery here and there in the book, but for me, the story felt more Japanese than the illustrations. Goto’s bright colors and big, bold use of line, as well as the shapes of his characters’ faces and bodies, reminded me much more of picture books by non-Japanese POC than Japanese picture books. This is not to criticize Goto; after all, every Japanese creator is entitled to their own interpretation of a ‘Japanese’ story. Rather, I appreciate Goto’s work for encouraging me to reevaluate my own assumptions about how a Japanese story should be visually depicted.

What I learned:

• I had never thought much about master/apprentice relationships in Japan versus other places until Goto pointed it out in his author’s note. It’s always fascinating to me when fellow Japanese people, nihonjin or nikkei, make a comparative statement about Japanese culture versus other cultures. Sometimes, I learn something completely new. Other times, it’s something I already know is specific to our culture. Most of the time, though, it’s something I already know, but perhaps have never consciously processed. I enjoy these moments, because it feels as though my worldview is being shaken up, in a good way.

Questions I had:

• Does Goto have any plans to publish a Japanese edition of this book? It would be interesting to know how nihonjin readers respond.
• Did Goto have a specific audience in mind when he wrote this book? Also, did Goto hope to elicit a specific response from Japanese readers?
• How might Goto’s work be placed in dialogue with the work of, for example, Tonko House creators Daisuke ‘Dice’ Tsutsumi and Robert Kondo? Tonko House seems to have achieved notable popularity in Japan, perhaps more so than in the US. To me, the aesthetic of The Dam Keeper is recognizably Japanese, specifically nihonjin, rather than nikkei, based on its visual similarity to books and media marketed to nihonjin audiences. This does not preclude it from being nikkei, however. If a nikkei scholar wrote a comparative analysis on Goto and Tonko House in the context of nikkei art, what conclusions might be reached?
• Based on his biography, Goto is based in Hawaii. In Goto’s opinion, what, if any, major differences exist in the work of Hawaii-based nikkei creators, compared to mainland nikkei creators?
• On a non-Goto-related tangent, but on the topic of Japanese people in Hawaii, has any Japanese scholar (nihonjin or nikkei) analyzed the relationship between Japanese settler colonialism in Hawaii and the rise of the Japanese empire in the Pacific War era? I would be especially curious to read any analysis of Japanese visual culture(s).

Follow-up:

• I will definitely keep an eye out for more books by Goto, especially if they focus on Japanese culture.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Displacement, written and illustrated by Kiku Hughes, chronicles the story of Hughes’s grandmother, Ernestina Teranishi, during her incarceration at Topaz.

What I liked:

• Hughes does an astute and gracious job of illustrating the experience of JA incarceration. The relatively simple shapes and restrained use of line seem to echo the quiet desolation and scarce resources of the camps. Hughes also uses facial expressions to great effect, illuminating her characters’ thoughts in many panels without overusing dialogue.
• The tender moments of friendship and queer love depicted in Displacement quietly but unmistakably highlight aspects of JA incarceration that may not always make it into so-called ‘mainstream’ JA-authored narratives. I appreciate Hughes’s contribution to diversifying the historical narrative and I hope to see an increase in queer-centered stories as more openly gay/queer nikkei creators find opportunities in mainstream US publishing.
• Hughes’s deepening relationship with her mother over the course of the book, as well as her description of her family’s research on the camps, provides a thoughtful, nuanced portrayal of intergenerational JA experiences. It is likely a familiar story for any JA who has ever tried to trace their family history. Although there are variations of this story in many JA books, Hughes’s honest, searching self-reflection throughout the process of learning about her family made her version particularly poignant to me. In fact, Hughes’s honesty throughout the story, including her straightforward admission of her lack of knowledge about the camps while she experiences the displacement, is one of my favorite aspects of this book. I would be interested in knowing if nikkei readers who are just learning about their own family’s experiences of JA incarceration find comfort in Hughes’s words, perhaps feeling Hughes has provided them with a space in which to be ignorant, confused, or upset, without fearing criticism.

What I learned:

• My own relatives were incarcerated as a family, so I had never really considered the experience of single young nikkei who were sent to camp with no familiar faces to support them. As Kiku herself wonders for a frantic instant in the camp, what happened to these young people when the camps closed? Did they find white sponsors and/or nikkei families willing to support them? Were there many instances of non-Japanese people of color stepping forward to support these individuals? I’ve added these questions to my running list for future TBR selections.

Questions I had:

• Hughes’s use of the ‘displacement’ phenomenon to place herself in her grandmother’s story was fascinating, especially given how the narrative remained firmly rooted in apparent historical realities, rather than becoming infused with an SFF flair. Although I love SFF, I’m not sure it is the best genre for depicting narratives of JA incarceration, and I appreciate how Hughes’s narrative and artistic choices kept Ernestina’s experiences grounded in a recognizable historical setting. How did Hughes come to this concept of displacement? In hindsight, is Hughes satisfied with her own choices?
• As a mixed nikkei person and, in her own words, white-passing, how does Hughes situate herself and her work in the existing body of nikkei literature? Specifically, has Hughes encountered any barriers in the nikkei community because of her appearance and/or background, or, conversely, does she feel certain opportunities were more easily accessible to her because of her appearance and/or background? Based on her experiences, how would Hughes describe the role of white privilege and/or the white default, as linked to the model minority myth, in contemporary nikkei communities? In her opinion, what more (if anything) might the nikkei community do to create safe and supportive spaces for mixed nikkei creators?

Follow-up:

• I would love to read more of Hughes’s work, especially any works pertaining to nikkei history.

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

Ryka Aoki’s poems in Why Dust Shall Never Settle Upon This Soul illuminate, celebrate, mourn, and caringly affirm the experiences of trans people.

What I liked:

• Aoki’s voice and style are enjoyably colloquial and familiar. Although many of Aoki’s topics and experiences vary greatly from my own, the poems are extremely readable and I would not be surprised if readers of all backgrounds felt the same.
• I’m finding it difficult to articulate my thoughts on Aoki’s depiction of trans experiences in these poems, without falling into the trap of a cis person objectifying or projecting onto trans experiences, so I’ll merely say I deeply appreciate Aoki’s meditations on the everyday experience of being trans and I hope fellow cis nikkei readers will read Aoki as well.
• What is Aoki’s favorite donut? I also like donuts; I appreciated seeing donuts pop up in several of her poems. Has any nikkei scholar studied the relationship between food and nikkei identity formation? The other day, an Asian American colleague suggested boba is an identity marker for a certain demographic of Asian Americans. I had never heard this before, but it got me thinking about how individuals utilize specific foods to cultivate their image. For example, when nikkei writers talk about food and family history, certain foods tend to appear over and over. Practically speaking, these commonalities can probably be attributed to geographic and temporal factors, but from a creative standpoint, to what extent do nikkei writers utilize these commonalities to craft a specific narrative? From a different angle, I also think of foods which commonly appear in certain manga genres, usually to further a relationship between the main characters. Obviously, these two disparate discussions are much too broad for this post, but this is where my mind went while reading about Aoki’s donuts.
• I enjoyed Aoki’s foreword, particularly the section about the relationship between truth and poetry. I wonder if this is also why I gravitate toward reading poetry at times when I cannot handle reading a novel.

What I learned:

• What exactly does it mean to be nikkei in LA and/or SoCal? Is it going too far to suggest nikkei proactively define, to some extent, regional nikkei identities? While reading Aoki’s poems, I was very aware of Aoki’s experience of being trans in LA and of how intensely Aoki observes and responds to her surroundings. It would be interesting to read a book of poems written while Aoki is in a different city, perhaps somewhere like Tokyo, to see how much her content and style fluctuate in response to the environment.

Questions I had:

• How does Aoki situate herself and her work in the existing body of nikkei literature? Trans nikkei seem to be severely underrepresented in mainstream US publishing, within even the sparse field of contemporary nikkei writers, particularly novelists. (Note: This does not absolve me from not being more proactive in seeking out existing trans nikkei writers, in both mainstream and independent publishing.) Additionally, has Aoki encountered transphobia from other nikkei writers? Is nikkei literature as a whole a safe and supportive environment for trans and/or LGBTQIA+ nikkei writers? Are there steps the nikkei community can take to ensure more trans nikkei writers have the opportunity to break into mainstream publishing? I can think of rather more gay/queer nikkei writers (specifically, of gay/queer nikkei writers who do not also identify as trans) than trans nikkei writers, which makes me wonder to what extent trans nikkei writers encounter barriers within the nikkei community (and also outside the nikkei community) that gay/queer nikkei writers do not.
• Did Aoki envision a particular audience for these poems?

Follow-up:

• I’m looking forward to Aoki’s SFF novel, which releases this fall.
• I absolutely need to read more trans nikkei writers. No excuses.