Category Archives: Japanese American

Children of Manzanar edited by Heather C. Lindquist

The PR materials that arrived with this remarkable title contains one of the most effective descriptions of the Japanese American imprisonment during World War II I’ve ever read: ” … this bleak chapter in American history, when Japanese bloodlines overshadowed American birthrights.” What a concise, solemn reminder during this 70th anniversary year of Executive Order 9066 when President Franklin D. Roosevelt authorized the imprisonment of 120,000 Americans of Japanese descent during World War II.

The powerful phrase is truncated from the book’s first chapter, “American Birthrights, Japanese Bloodlines” which introduces some of the imprisoned children – “more than 3,700 infants, toddlers, children, and teens” – who called Manzanar “home” from 1942 to 1945: “The civil liberties that should have been their birthright as American citizens were denied them during wartime. Their bloodlines marked them to be segregated from their non-Japanese peers and playmates. They left their homes, friends, and pets behind.”

Combining photographs culled from official government archives and personal collections with quotes from Manzanar’s children – most of them now in their 80s and 90s! – Children is richly dense with little known history in a single, slim volume. In addition to the Japanese American children are, surprisingly, photos and remembrances from some their Caucasian counterparts, the children of War Relocation Authority staff who lived mostly in a separate Administration Area. [Erica Harth, one of those non-Japanese Manzanar children, would grow up to become a lauded professor and author of Last Witness: Reflections on the Wartime Internment of Japanese Americans.]

Caught in the chaos of sudden uprootings and bleak conditions, societal – especially familial – structures suffered and even disintegrated. Children, in all their innocence, quickly adjusted: “They sneaked past the barbed wire to go fishing, played marbles in the dust, and formed lifelong friendships. They also saw their parents become powerless, witnessed systematic injustice, and faced an uncertain future. … [Y]oung people experienced Manzanar very differently than their parents and grandparents.” And here, you’ll find glimpses of some of their remarkable, diverse stories …

In addition to the stories, editor Heather C. Linquist weaves in little known details (with photos, of course) about Manzanar, including its Toy Loan Library, Hospital School (for children with health conditions or disabilities that did not allow them to attend the regular camp schools), the Children’s Village (run by social workers Harry and Lillian Matsumoto and home to 101 children, many of whom had been removed from West Coast foster homes and orphanages), and even experiences of resettlement and relocation after war’s end. Perhaps the most touching of all is a special spotlight on the now-annual Manzanar High School Reunion which, with its aging student bodies, since 2004 “has been billed as the ‘last one’ but we haven’t stopped yet.” True testimony to the resilience of children … even when bloodlines overshadowed birthrights.

Tidbit: Small world moment I must share … editor Linquist has Smithsonian history! She interned at National Museum of American History where she “discovered a love of exhibit planning and writing,” training she later used to develop interpretive exhibits at the Manzanar National Historic Site!

And, I have to note one minor numbers-related discrepancy: page 122 uses ’110,000′ as the number of Japanese and Japanese Americans relocated while page 133 uses ’120,000.’ I’ve seen both numbers in various places … just not usually in the same book. Perhaps I’m reading something incorrectly … feel free to enlighten me!

Update: Ask and ye shall receive. And I did! Numbers answer kindly (expediently!) provided by Alisa Lynch, Chief of Interpretation at the Manzanar National Historic Site: “This issue is how the people are counted and when. More than 110,000 were ’evacuated’ from their West Coast homes, but 120,313 were in WRA custody (i.e., in the ten camps). That includes nearly 6000 children born in camps, others who transferred in, 219 non-Japanese Americans, etc.” She even provides an easy-to-read visual on page 2 of the Manzanar/National Park Service handout which you can access by clicking here. Talk about oh so grateful, near-instant satisfaction!

Readers: Young Adult, Adult

Published: 2012

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Filed under ..Adult Readers, ..Young Adult Readers, .Nonfiction, Japanese American

Ichiro by Ryan Inzana

A shape-shifting teapot which releases a mischievous tanuki when heated. A fatherless hapa Japanese American boy headed to Japan to stay with his mother’s father whom he barely knows. Two stories, two cultures, two vastly different worlds, all intertwine to create a fantastical adventure in Ryan Inzana‘s surprising, highly original Ichiro.

In a New York City subway, young Ichiro watches his Japanese American mother accosted by street youths with their racist comments of “chink-ee eyes” and “could blind her wit’ dental floss.” She doesn’t engage, merely moving away, assuming (hoping) that Ichiro’s headphones have kept him protected for the time being. Ironically, and sadly, Ichiro is learning a not dissimilar racism from his bitter American grandfather – having lost his son, Ichiro’s father, to war – directed at the diverse immigrants in their post-9/11 neighborhood.

Ichiro is not quite ready to visit his mother’s homeland where she will work and he will be left behind with his Japanese grandfather. In Japan, Ichiro doesn’t quite fit in either, clearly being more American than Japanese … and the local bullies know how to make him feel unwelcome. But his grandfather is patient and gentle, ready with both historical and cultural lessons and insight. Having survived WWII, he also explains a very different view of war and its aftermath to his unaware grandson.

One night, Ichiro ventures out into his grandfather’s backyard where he’s set a trap to catch whoever – or whatever – has been stealing all the ripening fruit. When he startles a hungry tanuki, Ichiro is suddenly pulled into a completely different world … where all hell breaks loose – literally. He’s about to experience a war of his own … good guys, bad guys, and all the other characters in between …

The constant movement Inzana captures in his sweeping art quickly draws readers into his multi-layered story. Moments that might occasionally seem overly didactic to adult readers as Ichiro is forced to outgrow his simplified, childhood view of clear-cut right and wrong will probably go unnoticed by the book’s intended audience of middle grade and high school readers. In spite of the story’s swift pace, young readers will hopefully pause to give serious consideration to the all-encompassing tragedies of war, violence, collateral damage, in addition to everyday acts including bullying.

While Inzana entertains, he also gives warning. “What is the world coming to?” the final panel asks in full technicolor. Surely, with the future always encroaching, our youth will need to answer sooner than later.

Readers: Middle Grade, Young Adult, Adult

Published: 2012

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Filed under ..Adult Readers, ..Middle Grade Readers, ..Young Adult Readers, .Fiction, .Graphic Novel/Manga/Manwha, Hapa, Japanese, Japanese American

It’s a Big World, LIttle Pig! by Kristi Yamaguchi, illustrated by Tim Bowers

Introduced in last year’s bestselling, award-winning Dream Big, Little Pig!, tenacious little Poppy did just that and proved that pigs can indeed fly … especially on the ice! Her creator, of course, is the legendary skater Kristi Yamaguchi (whose skates and skating dress have found a home in the Smithsonian – click here to check out those Olympian boots, click here to see her dress). Once again, illustrator Tim Bowers imbues Poppy with charming energy to spare – and might that sparkly teal and purple “Dream Big” backpack with the little yellow flower closure be hitting stores sooner than later?

After such an auspicious skating start in Dream, Poppy’s now on her way to Paris to compete in the World Games: “‘Reach for the stars, little pig!’” encourages the official invitation. As talented as Poppy is, she’s a bit nervous about traveling so far from her home in New Pork City (snort, snort), but with the encouragement of her family and friends, Poppy finds herself meeting the world’s best athletes.

“Would they speak the same language? Would she make any new friends?” she wonders. Soon enough, adorable Poppy is exchanging “ni hao” (hello) with Li from China, sharing pasta and gelato with Gianna from Italy, promising “ganbatte kudasai” (good luck) with Kiyomi from Japan, and waving “hooroo!” (goodbye) to Zoe from Australia. By the time Poppy glides onto the ice, she’s filled with “the joy of new friendships and discoveries.”

Not to be too terribly nit-picky, but I confess I did wonder how Poppy managed to have such detailed conversations with her international buddies without a common language – about check-in booths, maps, lucky charms, music, even fashion design. That requires vocabulary far beyond the simple greetings they teach each other … but perhaps I’m overthinking and just need to enjoy the porcine fun. After all, as Poppy learns, in spite of any differences, “‘everyone smiles in the same language!’”

Tidbit: DC area folks – you can go meet Kristi herself in person this afternoon, Saturday, March 10 at 4:30 p.m., at the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Library! Click here for details.

Readers: Children

Published: 2012

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Filed under ..Children/Picture Books, .Fiction, Japanese American

March Was Made of Yarn: Reflections on the Japanese Earthquake, Tsunami, and Nuclear Meltdown, edited by Elmer Luke and David Karashima

March 11, 2011, 14:46 Japan Standard Time: A magnitude-9.0 earthquake lasts six minutes, followed by a 50-foot tsunami that, within 15 minutes, plows inland six miles and causes meltdowns in five nuclear plants. “In one’s wildest imagination, this is beyond conceivable,” write editors Elmer Luke and David Karashima in their introduction to March Was Made of Yarn: Reflections on the Japanese Earthquake, Tsunami, and Nuclear Meltdown.

One year later, writer/editor Luke and novelist/translator Karashima have pulled together a diverse collection of new and previously published nonfiction, fiction, poetry, and a manga to create “an artistic record” of a people’s response to an unimaginable disaster. The writers are mostly Japanese – including major names like Yoko Ogawa and Ryu Murakami – translated into English by an impressive list of powerhouse translators. Although the quality of the final product is mixed – as is often the case with anthologies – the impetus behind each individual piece is heartfelt.

Two stories are standouts, each for the naked vulnerability they display. In “The Charm,” by Kiyoshi Shigematsu (translated by Jeffrey Hunter), a woman plagued by guilt for “her comfortable, carefree life in Tokyo” returns to a town “devoured by the ocean” where she spent a year of her peripatetic childhood, hoping to contact any of her former classmates. Her search takes her to a hilltop playground where she witnesses two young girls sharing a “charm” – a chanted promise – so personal that it makes her feel that “now everything was all right.”

In Shinji Ishii’s “Lulu” (translated by Bonnie Elliott), a nocturnal dog who lives in a “municipal children’s facility” watches “translucent women” magically bestow “the gift of rest” to children traumatized by disaster. Lulu, who has led the cruel life of an unwanted dog, empathizes with five children unattended by the magical women; one by one, with the sheer unconditional love that only dogs can offer, she “pull[s] each of them out of darkness and back into the land of peaceful sleep.” Twelve years later, 32 of the children gather for a reunion at which Lulu is named and remembered.

Many of the other pieces, if not as memorable, share powerfully resonating moments. In Yoko Tawada’s “The Island of Eternal Life” (translated by Margaret Mitsutani), devoted doctors in an isolated futuristic Japan “gather swarms of fireflies” to create light in order to continue their saving work after dark. In Hiromi Kawakami’s “God Bless You, 2011” (translated by Ted Goosen and Motoyuki Shibata) – an updated version of his 1993 story – a man decides that hugging his bear-friend is more important than being exposed to any radiation trapped in the bear’s fur. In Natsuki Ikezawa’s “Grandma’s Bible” (translated by Alfred Birnbaum), a man gives up a potentially easier life in the United States to help rebuild his late brother’s leveled town where “Grandma’s Bible is still somewhere here on the ocean floor.”

Of the three non-Japanese pieces, British expat novelist David Peace’s “After the Disaster, Before the Disaster” is the most enigmatic. After surviving the 1923 Great Kanto earthquake (which previously had been considered Japan’s worst quake), Ryunosuke (identified as iconic writer Akutagawa Ryunosuke by a reference to his death four years later) wanders Tokyo searching for his friend Yasunari (Kawabata, another canonic Japanese writer). Joined by friend in common Kon (presumably Ichikawa, the famed filmmaker, who would have been a mere boy then), the trio bears witness to horrifying destruction.

Together these pieces depict the struggle of a people to find meaning after so great a tragedy. The book’s title is taken from a story by Mieko Kawakami (translated by Michael Emmerich). Kawakami writes of a pregnant woman who shares with her husband a dream she has about “a world where everything was made of yarn.” Cups, clothes, books made of yarn don’t seem too strange, but when she insists that “even March was made of yarn,” her husband can’t understand how “a name we give to a segment of time” could be made of yarn. His struggle for meaning mirrors our own efforts to grasp that which is incomprehensible.

“Words grown old from overuse … grow toward new meanings,” writes Shuntaro Tanikawa (translated by Jeffrey Angles) in his epigraphic poem “Words.” Indeed, the words that follow reclaim and redefine one of history’s most unfathomable disasters. One by one, the writers here “reconceive the catastrophe, imagine a future and a past, interpret dreams, impel purpose, point blame, pray for hope.”

Review: Christian Science Monitor, March 6, 2012 [print edition: March 5, 2012]

Readers: Adult

Published: 2012

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Filed under ..Adult Readers, .Memoir, .Nonfiction, .Translation, Japanese, Japanese American

Tina’s Mouth: An Existential Comic Diary by Keshni Kashyap, illustrated by Mari Araki

“Dear Mr. Jean Paul Sartre, I know that you are dead and old and also a philosopher. So, on an obvious level, you and I do not have a lot in common.” Thus begins 15-year-old Tina’s class project for her English Honors elective on existential philosophy. And what an angst-ridden, beguiling, contemplative, delightful exploration of teenage-hood it proves to be.

Tina has just started the second half of her sophomore year at Yarborough Academy, “just a boring school started by some guy who died eons ago.” She’s “a pretty good student. A decent violin player. And a bit of an intellectual.” She has two older (overachieving) siblings – her architect-trained artist sister, her internet wife-seeking surgeon-to-be brother – who, now well into their 20s, are dealing with their own self-discovery. To the “question I get asked the most … What are you, REALLY?” she answers “I’m an Alien (But my parents are Indian.).”

In just six short months (eight if you count the “Epilogue”), Tina’s high school-centered life goes through some existentially significant changes. She loses her best friend to “a new group of friends with whom she could discuss slutty clothes and cheesy poetry,” has her first date and first kiss (sort of twice), gets cast as the lead in the school play, falls in love, gets lovesick, and fights off what she calls “CEM or Chronic Existential Malaise.”

Lest I’ve somehow caused you to think even for a millisecond that this is your same-old, same-old teenage tale, please let me dispel any such misconceptions: creators Keshni Kashyap (who is also a filmmaker, and making her publishing debut here) and Mari Araki are far too clever and original for that. How else could they combine Krishna, a Samoan Mormon convert, “tacky pieces of art like statues of white people doing ballet and kissing,” Rashomon, Camus and Kierkegaard, skateboards, nirvana, and horse tranquilizers to get such stellar results?

Readers: Young Adult, Adult

Published: 2012

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Filed under ..Adult Readers, ..Young Adult Readers, .Fiction, .Graphic Novel/Manga/Manwha, Indian American, Japanese American, South Asian American

Drawing From Memory by Allen Say and The House Baba Built by Ed Young


What formative experiences make a great children’s book illustrator? In the case of Allen Say and Ed Young, both Caldecott medalists, the journey begins with unusual childhoods in wartime Asia. Connecting the dots from those beginnings to what would become long and successful careers, Drawing From Memory by Say, and The House Baba Built, by Young, both picture books, portray the authors and artists as not-yet men.

Allen Say, author of Grandfather’s Journey, which won the Caldecott in 1994, is known for his watercolor paintings; among Say’s many books, only one, The Ink-Keeper’s Apprentice, forgoes artwork, even as it tells the story of his early artistic training. With Drawing From Memory, Say reworks that unillustrated autobiographical middle-grade novel into a transporting hybrid of picture book and graphic memoir. In doing so, he shows just how evocative illustration can be in conveying a life to young readers.

Drawing From Memory begins in prewar Yokohama, Japan, where the precocious Say decides early on to become a cartoonist: “When I was drawing, I was happy. I didn’t need toys or friends or parents.” Yet he quickly learns to hide his art, particularly from his mostly absent and disapproving father. Soon, he is forced to flee bomb-ridden Yokohama for the countryside. By the end of World War II, he says, “everything was broken,” including Say’s scattered family. Following an unusual deal with his grandmother – he gets an apartment in exchange for gaining admission to a prestigious Tokyo middle school – Say moves into a room of his own just before his 13th birthday, determined to become an artist.

Inspired by a newspaper article about a boy who walked 350 miles to apprentice himself to the renowned cartoonist Noro Shinpei, Say likewise walks through the famous artist’s studio door. He re-emerges with a sensei – a master instructor – and a new name, Kiyoi, a mispronunciation of his pre-Westernized surname, Sei-I. Say’s training with Noro-Sensei, whom Say lovingly refers to as his “spiritual father,” lasts for several years, until Say emigrates to the United States. This memoir allows Say to acknowledge, six decades later, his lifelong bond to his teacher.

The House Baba Built, illustrated by Ed Young with text as told to Libby Koponen, opens with another unconventional real estate exchange. With war approaching 1930s Shanghai, Young’s engineer father, Baba, strikes an agreement with a wealthy landowner in an attempt to shelter his family in the city’s safest neighborhood. He will design and build a big house with courtyards, gardens and a swimming pool, which he must then give to the landowner after his own family has lived there for 20 years.

The sprawling, three-story complex becomes a magical playground for Young and his four siblings and, soon, a safe haven for relatives and friends. With vibrant collages comprised of drawings, cutouts and manipulated photographs, Young, who won the Caldecott Medal in 1990 for Lon Po Po, dreamily reconstructs his childhood. The fall of Nanjing, the arrival of a German refugee family and other wartime events figure in the background, but, Young says, “I knew nothing could happen to us within those walls.”

The House Baba Built is as intricately constructed as his father’s house, with pages that extend and open to reveal additional detail and memories. The first such spread depicts an overview of Baba’s house, an oasis surrounded by a bustling Shanghai cityscape, its citizens dwarfed by the house’s epic proportions. The final two facing-spreads, hidden behind a useful time line and author’s note, open to simplified architectural line drawings of the house’s interior, populated by cutouts of the family and friends who made Baba’s house so welcoming.

Both books describe how family can guide artists in their early years. In Say’s case, it was a chosen family; for Young, the extended family into which he was born. In Drawing From Memory, Say, who outwardly faced greater adversity, reveals winking secrets to longtime readers about the ways his youth informed his later work: how he immortalized his mother’s uncle as the curmudgeonly protagonist in Once Under the Cherry Blossom Tree (1974) and threw tiles from the same roof that appears on the cover of The Ink-Keeper’s Apprentice. He also shows how he channeled the cartoon ego his sensei created of him, decades later, in The Sign Painter (2000). All this is revealed through comics, line drawing, watercolor and half-century-old photographs, a combination that highlights Say’s range and depth as both an illustrator and storyteller. Meanwhile, Young, whose childhood self was largely cocooned, uses a mix of media to depict disquieting reminders of things past: flocks of hovering crows, fading pictures, dark silhouettes and nameless faces as viewed from the safe haven within.

As if intended to be paired, the titles of these two remarkable books prove complementary: “Drawing From Memory the House Baba Built.” In both artists’ lives, art provides a refuge.

Review: “Portrait of the Artist as a Young Boy,” Sunday Book Review, The New York Times, November 10, 2011 (online), November 13, 2011 (in print)

Readers: Children, Middle Grade

Published: 2011

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Filed under ..Children/Picture Books, ..Middle Grade Readers, .Memoir, .Nonfiction, Chinese American, Japanese American

The Buddha in the Attic by Julie Otsuka

Almost 10 years after Julie Otsuka made her spectacular literary debut with When the Emperor Was Divine, I remain even more convinced that Emperor is the best book I’ve ever read about the Japanese American imprisonment during World War II. Truth be told, Emperor ranks so high on my personal list of all-time revered titles that I felt unable to read Otsuka’s latest for many months; the thought that I might have another near-decade to wait for her next title haunts me still.

The Buddha in the Attic – recently named a 2011 National Book Award finalist – is another masterpiece. Otsuka distills nearly a half century of history into 129 exquisite pages of powerful intensity; like the very best poetry, every page has been reduced to the most essential details, moments, phrases, memories. Using a chorus-like ‘we,’ Otsuka’s eight spare chapters are chant-like revelations of the Japanese American experience.

“On the boat we were mostly virgins,” Otsuka begins, capturing Japanese picture brides early in the last century, traveling to the other side of the world to join husbands they have only seen in photographs. Some are as young as 14, still girls, filled with hope and expectation for building a new life with prosperous young men. What awaits at the end of their long journey is a shocking reality: “… we could not have known that when we first saw our husbands we would have no idea who they were.” The women have married 20-year-old photographs, fallen for beautiful promises written by someone else, bet their lives on complete strangers full of desperate lies.

The lives of these women in a harsh new world proves difficult, even fatal. They join their husbands out in the back-wrenching fields, and many endure nightly assaults. They will clean other people’s houses, raise other people’s children. Those who can will learn other people’s language, learn to eat other people’s food. Most will have children of their own – some will live beyond infancy, some will survive to give their parents great joy, others only heartbreak. The lucky will have their own homes, others will always live at the mercy of others. Finally, when the War comes and they are branded by their government as the enemy, most will go – in disbelief – without protest.

Once they are gone, Otsuka uses the final chapter to brilliantly, astonishingly flip the ‘us vs. them’ paradigm. Suddenly, “we” are the ‘real’ Americans who were not rounded up, who were not imprisoned for no other reason that looking like the enemy: some are “more than a little relieved to see the Japanese go,” although some of our younger children have nightmares having abruptly lost their classmates and friends. But now that they are gone, we finally take the time to read the fine print on the tattered relocation notices, although “what it was, exactly, that these instructions spelled out, none of us can clearly recall.” Oh, the consequences of selective amnesia …

Post-9/11, Buddha is both historical reminder and contemporary warning of the indelible effects of a ’you’re either with us or against us’-polarized world. Read and take heed.

Tidbit: On March 26, 2012, Buddha deservedly won the 2012 PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction. Yipppeeee indeed!

Readers: Young Adult, Adult

Published: 2011

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Filed under ...Absolute Favorites, ..Adult Readers, ..Young Adult Readers, .Fiction, Japanese American

The Boy from the Dragon Palace retold by Margaret Read MacDonald, illustrated by Sachiko Yoshikawa

Let me know if you’ve heard this one before – a poor man gets rich, gets greedy, not to mention careless and lazy, and loses everything. No … I’m actually not referring to the latest Wall Street headlines!

This playful new version gets retold by peripatetic children’s librarian Margaret Read MacDonald (gotta love that perfect middle name!) and is colorfully presented by illustrator Sashiko Yoshikawa who draws on her own childhood memories of growing up in an old part of Tokyo. Together, the pair create an entertaining morality tale both timely and timeless.

The story opens with a poor flower seller who can’t sell his blooms, and instead throws them into the ocean as a gift for the Dragon King. The waters swirl and a beautiful woman emerges and hands the man a little boy – with “the snottiest nose you ever did see!” Rather surprised, the man isn’t sure what he should do with the Dragon King’s gift, but the woman promises that the boy will bring good luck, as long as the man cooks the boy a daily meal of shrimp with vinegar and sugar.

The man takes the boy home, and spends his last coin to feed him. Having eaten, the boy blows his nose, and … what do you know … instead of something else (ahem!), gold coins shower down. The man cooks (always shrimp with vinegar and sugar), the boy eats, the boy blows not so mellifluously, and more riches magically appear.

But too soon, a palace, servants, and treasures are not enough. The man quickly becomes used to such wealth and status, and no longer deigns to take care of the boy as he promised. ”’What a nuisance this is!’” he declares. And with that, he promptly shuts the boy out of his new palace … you can surely guess the rest.

Sadly enough, such tales of greed-induced downfall aren’t limited to children’s stories. From Bernie Madoff to the most recent Raj Rajaratnam/Anil Kumar/Rajat Gupta-McKinsey insider scandal, even too much is never enough for some. If only these people were read to by caring parents when stories still made a difference, their lives might have turned out differently, right? We may never know, but why take chances?

Go ahead … grab a cuddle and read together about The Boy … teach the kiddies early, teach them well …

Readers: Children

Published: 2011

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Filed under ..Children/Picture Books, .Fiction, Japanese American, Nonethnic-specific

Amulet | Book Four: The Last Council by Kazu Kibuishi

Although this newest installment arrived months ago, it somehow went missing, thanks to my son’s kleptomaniacal tendencies whenever he sees a Kazu Kibuishi title. Just finding it buried amidst his various piles of stuff (he keeps Books 1, 2, and 3 in the car for constant, easy access) was an epic quest! He did offer to trade Book 4 for (the as-yet unpublished, hello!) Book 5 before I went hunting … oh, impatient youth!

Book 4 begins with an uncertain journey: “I don’t trust these guys,” Navin immediately announces. As Emily and her family and friends prepare to be escorted to the legendary floating city of Cielis, they’re unexpectedly separated and their eventual destinations prove to be unwelcome surprises. Guided by Max, another young Stonekeeper, Emily, her brother Navin, and their mother are installed in a luxurious new suite in the Academy … and then locked in!

Meanwhile, Leon Redbeard and his companions are barred from entering the Academy walls and sent to wander the strangely deserted city streets; and Trellis and Luger are shut away without cause in an already-overpopulated prison.

Somewhere far away, Miskit and Cogsley find themselves in the middle of nowhere, perched atop an oversized nest. They’re miraculously rescued by Vigo, who turns out to be another renegade Stonekeeper. Vigo also knows a lot more about Cielis and the current Guardian Council … and the news isn’t good.

When Emily is called before the Council, she meets other young Stonekeepers … just before each must fight for survival. As Emily struggles to stay alive, help is on the way thanks to new Cielis-ian friend Aly (get it? as in ‘ally’!) and the re-inspired Vigo …

The latest adventure is as swiftly moving and heart-thumping as its three predecessors. I have that on tested authority from the target audience – obviously my son, ahem! Only warning: Be ready for the usual refrain of more, more, more!

Click here for the book trailer! Clearly an animated series must be coming soon??!!

Readers: Middle Grade

Published: 2011

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Filed under ..Middle Grade Readers, .Fiction, .Graphic Novel/Manga/Manwha, Japanese American, Nonethnic-specific

Empire State: A Love Story (or Not) by Jason Shiga

Whew! This time, my aging, addled brain ‘got’ Jason Shiga’s latest graphic creation almost immediately. I admit that freely because his bestselling, many-award-winning Meanwhile (gives the word ‘matrix’ a whole new meaning!) had me so discombobulated with all its unique cleverness, I didn’t know which way to hold the book anymore. Someone out there, please send me a cheat sheet – I have no shame left in old age! And if you could let me know if that Jimmy is this Jimmy?

Thankfully, Empire State is an adorable love story (or not) neatly organized into just two color palettes. The red pages are Jimmy-dominant; the pages start and end in Jimmy’s hometown of Oakland, California where he works in a library, dreams of being a web designer, and shares a comfortable friendship with Sara. Interspersed with the red, are the blue pages, which literally take Jimmy out of his comfort zone – from Oakland to New York – to chase Sara who’s gone to the big city to follow her dream of working in the book publishing world. Two chapters combine both red and blue … but you’ll have to discover for yourself why that might be …

Shiga presents a puzzle-like adventure in true love, complete with JDate, craigslist, Google New York, a cross-country bus odyssey complete with recent prison inmates, Sleepless in Seattle-anticipation, consumer culture rants, High School Musical 4,  and a kiss meant to “get you through the next year or two.”

The simplicity of Shiga’s graphics – his squat and solid would-be lovers, for example – together with his no-nonsense storytelling belie a subtlety and depth to a complicated commentary on 21st-century love, missed connections, emotional isolation in an age of instant access, and so much more. Even minor characters – Sara’s friend Mark and Jimmy’s mother’s blind-date choice – reveal volumes, regardless of the small number of comic panes they might inhabit. Shiga is definitely a slyly entertaining master of his graphic universe … which also makes him one quirky, inventive creator to keep watching very, very closely.

Readers: Middle Grade, Young Adult

Published: 2011

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Filed under ..Middle Grade Readers, ..Young Adult Readers, .Fiction, .Graphic Novel/Manga/Manwha, Japanese American