Finding Her Voice

Grace Lin
The Year of the Dog
Little Brown, 2006

Pacy, as she is known to her family, also has an American name, Grace; and the dual names emblematize the theme of identity, which percolates throughout The Year of the Dog. Grace, both the character and author Grace Lin, is uneasy but still gracious in fielding that oh-so-vexing question, "What are you?" Grace is Chinese, but also Taiwanese and, as her mother helpfully insists, American. What alternatives are at hand to that question? I am reminded of geographer and humanist Yifu Tuan's response to the sister question, "Where are you from?" He honestly and willfully replies, "Earth." Is there another way around questions such as these? How about replacing them with a more personal and interesting, "What is your name, and what do you like to do?" Will that day come?
  But I digress. The Year of the Dog takes us from one Lunar New Year to the next, during which time Pacy/Grace tries to find her calling. Loyal readers will not be surprised when a story about ugly vegetables crops up. But, there are satisfying surprises, particularly in the short stories told by Pacy/Grace's mother. They speak to the time and distance that the family has traveled, and to the integrity and ingenuity of individuals within the family.
  Much of the book is satisfying, and I would agree that Lin has achieved her goal of writing a book that she wishes was around when she was growing up (I wish it were, too). She even tackles the difficult issues of cultural authenticity when Pacy/Grace is confronted by Taiwanese speaking peers at a Chinese/Taiwanese/American family camp. My one lingering question concerns Pacy/Grace's friend, Becky Williams, who seemed to be left somewhat thoughtlessly by the wayside as Pacy/Grace pursues a new friendship with Melody Ling, whose similarities make the two girls "almost twins." Is there an unintended message here?

Friends

Belle Yang
Chili-Chili-Chin-Chin
Harcourt Brace, 1999

The eponymous donkey of Belle Yang's book is feisty and independent toward all but its best friend, a rosy-cheeked little Chinese boy. The donkey tells the story of a fierce love for the boy. Yang's bright illustrations done in a folk art style seduce readers into the colorful utopia where humans and beasts (excepting the rather pathetic looking ox) frolic in flower-filled fields. The book is story-light, but young mimics will naturally gravitate to the together-ness theme and take to chanting Chili-Chili-Chin-Chin.

Stones with your cherries?

Tim Myers (author) and Oki S. Han (illustrator)
Basho and the River Stones
Marshall Cavendish, 2004

I reviewed Tim Myers' Tanuki's Gift on Thanksgiving, and now with Basho and the River Stones I feel gratitude again for his writing. Again, the theme is friendship and the things in life that really matter. Matsuo Basho, Myers' informs us, is one of Japan's most famous poets. While two haiku capture the deep feelings of the book's two characters, Basho and a shape-shifting fox, poems are not the focus. Instead, the book moves from greed (over cherries) to deception to anger and disappointment. Then, with a moment of insight, those emotions dissolve into gratitude and honor on the part of the former victim, and shame and resolve to make amends on the part of the perpetrator. In a world where injustice and inequality are altogether too common, Myers' Basho helps us to remember plenitude and joy and humor, and to act in forthright and compassionate ways. Oki S. Han's illustrations vibrate with color and immerse us, as Basho's river stones, in a world of sensory satisfaction.

Simple pleasures

Chih-Yuan Chen
On My Way to Buy Eggs
Kane/Miller, 2001

The simple walk to the neighborhood store to buy eggs turns into an exploration of the senses and imagination for Shau-yu (小魚,
in pinyin, Xiaoyu, meaning little fish). Through shadow play, she walks on the roof; with a glass marble, she sees the world in blue; in the crunch of leaves, she hears cookies being munched; and with a pair of glasses, she becomes her mother. She returns with childhood treasures to share and, of course, eggs. Chen's prose and accompanying pictures do not shout for attention, rather, they reward readers with a childlike focus.

More Japanese kitties

Margaret Hodges (adapted by)
and Aki Sogabe (illustrations)
The Boy Who Drew Cats
Holiday House, 2002

Margaret Hodges' story of Japanese zen monk and artist Sesshū Tōyō (1420-1506) as a boy is charming and suspenseful. In many ways, the young Sesshū is like any other boy, quick but easily distracted. But his obsession with painting cats everywhere—temple columns and walls, and fusuma (sliding doors)—sets him apart. The habit impels the narrative forward and generates the happy ending. Aki Sogabe's illustrations rise to the challenge of depicting one of Japan's most famous artists. They have the thick line and flat colors of modern woodblock prints, which might sound dull, but quite the opposite. The images are fresh, and the expressive cats, which teeter towards madness in their bizarre combination of domestication and wildness, steal the show.

Slow and steady

Barbara Helen Berger
All the Way to Lhasa: A Tale from Tibet
Philomel Books, 2002

Less dramatic, nevertheless quietly powerful is Barbara Helen Berger's story of a young boy's journey to Lhasa. The obvious comparison is Aesop's fable featuring a tortoise and a hare. In both instances the lesson is to practice steadiness in striving toward a goal, but the Tibetan tale the lesson expands more easily to encompass non-competitive situations. Quiet resolve and courage are not pitted against smugness, as Aesop would have it. Rather, those virtues succeed where anxiousness, which diverts and saps one's energies, creates its own obstacle. It's a lesson well worth learning, and learning sooner than later. Berger's gentle prose draw us into the simple, but profound story.

Child makes her world a better place

Mercer Mayer
Shibumi and the Kitemaker
Marshall Cavendish, 1999

Readers with some background in Japanese history and culture will see immediately that Mayer's story of a princess, Shibumi, and her wish for a more equitable and flourishing city is pieced together with his own imagination. The well-crafted story recalls early on the life of the historical Buddha and maintains the quality of a folk-tale. In addition, Mayer's illustrations follow the same pattern, inserting a famous Shinto sculpture here, then drawing freely from Japanese styles of art and architecture elsewhere. Perhaps these aspects explain why I found this book in the folk-tale and not the picture book section of a local, public library. Contradicting historical patterns, Mayer places his emperor in a shogun's castle and gives him a loyal samurai. But the truths of parents' love for their child and of a child's yearning for an ideal world are incontestable.