American Born Chinese by Gene Luen Yang
My rating: 4/5 cats
this book is the perfect antidote to the “graphic novels aren’t real books” crowd’s poison. it takes full advantage of the medium (lgm with the local boy scout troops), and just runs with it. this story could not have been told as well or as broadly using a more traditional narrative structure. and at the end, there is a perfect collapse—the three storylines streamline so perfectly into one message about cultural acclimatization and race-shame and why it is bad. but not in a preachy way. it is not rah-rah asia, it is just quietly, “don’t be an asshole; this is who you are,” so it doesn’t exclude roundeye from appreciating the message, like me at chinese new year at my ex’s. I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE SAYING ABOUT ME, GRANDMA TSUI!
so the stories include the traditional tale of the monkey king:
a very tasteful depiction of a chinese gentleman come to america:
and this cute young chinese-american boy with a perm:
that’s what the art looks like. and if i didn’t have to read this for class, i would have missed out on it, because it is not the kind of art i am immediately drawn to. me and art, we don’t understand each other. museums leave me cold, and with graphic novels, i am always drawn to certain ones and repulsed by others with not one whit of rhyme nor reason nor consistency. i am the worst at art-appreciation. but i am the queen of making thanksgiving dinner. and writing drunken book reviews. and white trash fixing of silverware drawers:
recognize!!!
but yeah, a totally charming book. i have no personal immigrant experience from which to draw as a way of relating to this story, but it works on any level of “appreciate thyself and don’t wear shoes just because the humans are doing it” kind of thing.
where did that wine go?
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