To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

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

What I liked:            

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

What I learned:

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

Questions I had:

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

Follow-up:

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

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

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

What I liked:

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

What I learned:

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

Questions I had:

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

Follow-up:

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

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

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

What I liked:

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

What I learned:

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

Questions I had:

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

Follow-up:

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

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

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

What I liked:

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

What I learned:

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

Questions I had:

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

Follow-up:

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

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

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

What I liked:

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

What I learned:

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

Questions I had:

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

Follow-up:

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

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

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

What I liked:

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

What I learned:

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

Questions I had:

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

Follow-up:

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

To learn more about Book Spotlight, read this.

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

What I liked:

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

What I learned:

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

Questions I had:

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

Follow-up:

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

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!