★★★★
Disclaimer: I'm a huge George Takei fan, so I was probably predisposed to like this book.
I was pleased to find that even though I had read George Takei's autobiography To The Stars, seen his Broadway musical Allegiance, followed him on Facebook, read countless articles by and about him, and watched who knows how many interviews on video - still this book had details that were new to me.
The book centers on George Takei's experiences growing up in an internment camp during World War II, but it does briefly touch upon his acting and activism at the end of the book. Published just this year, the graphic novel includes a panel that draws a clear parallel to the current border crisis.
Mostly this book is an excellent way to educate new audiences about a part of American history that is still largely unknown. Telling this personalized history through illustrations and from the perspective of childhood humanizes the events. The remembrances of happy moments shed surprising warmth on an otherwise dark and painful time. Through the agonizing decisions faced by George Takei's parents, we see the injustices perpetrated by our government on our own citizens, and we see how time and time again the Japanese-Americans were in "lose-lose" positions, yet they persevered with as much dignity and resolve as they could muster.
Ultimately, I rated this book short of 5 stars because I found the storytelling choppy. The narrative jumped unexpectedly from George Takei's childhood to a TEDx talk in 2014 back to childhood flashbacks then forward to a Day of Remembrance event in 2017, etc. Even scenes that followed chronologically were sometimes difficult for me to separate as new events taking place on a new day or in a new setting. I admit that I usually do not read graphic novels, though, so I am not the target audience, and maybe I'm just not accustomed to graphic novel storytelling.
Anyway. I hope this book finds its way into many school libraries and classrooms.
Thursday, August 29, 2019
Sunday, August 25, 2019
Part Asian, 100% Hapa by Kip Fulbeck
★★★★★
I LOOOOOVE that this book exists.
My children are Hapa, and I want them to feel like they belong, that they have "their people", their tribe. We are lucky to live in an area with plenty of other part-Asian kids, but seeing a world of Hapas outside our own community, of all ages and ethnicities, is even more empowering.
Each 2-page spread features a photo of a person, their self-identified ethnicities (to demystify their race so you can't be distracted by the mystery), and their own handwritten responses to the age-old question faced by anyone who is not white: "What are you?"
The answers are amazing. They are thoughtful and irreverent, earnest and frivolous. The wide range of responses just can't be summarized. Every page is worth reading, every story deserves to be heard.
This book reminded me of a Facebook post by The Love Life Of An Asian Guy. Only now do I realize that the post was inspired by one of the photos in this book! These are the words of LLAG:
Dear EVERYONE,
Stop invalidating folks who are multiracial. There are (at least) three different ways to identity as a multiracial POC:
1.) Who you are based on DNA percentages ("I'm 50% Filipino and 50% Black")
2.) Who you are based on your physical appearance ("I'm Filipino and Black but I look and experience life as a Black individual.")
3.) Who you are based on culture ("I'm Filipino and Black but I connect more with my Filipino heritage.")
We should let multiracial folks make that decision on their own instead of us trying to fit them into boxes that we prefer.
But, even better (IMO) is the belief that multiracial folks are 100% of everything. 100% Black. 100% Filipino. 100% them. We can still address colorism and privilege without striping them of their right to identify.
If they wanna self hate and neglect their POC side in favor of their whiteness, so be it. It's their loss.
I LOOOOOVE that this book exists.
My children are Hapa, and I want them to feel like they belong, that they have "their people", their tribe. We are lucky to live in an area with plenty of other part-Asian kids, but seeing a world of Hapas outside our own community, of all ages and ethnicities, is even more empowering.
Each 2-page spread features a photo of a person, their self-identified ethnicities (to demystify their race so you can't be distracted by the mystery), and their own handwritten responses to the age-old question faced by anyone who is not white: "What are you?"
The answers are amazing. They are thoughtful and irreverent, earnest and frivolous. The wide range of responses just can't be summarized. Every page is worth reading, every story deserves to be heard.
This book reminded me of a Facebook post by The Love Life Of An Asian Guy. Only now do I realize that the post was inspired by one of the photos in this book! These are the words of LLAG:
Dear EVERYONE,
Stop invalidating folks who are multiracial. There are (at least) three different ways to identity as a multiracial POC:
1.) Who you are based on DNA percentages ("I'm 50% Filipino and 50% Black")
2.) Who you are based on your physical appearance ("I'm Filipino and Black but I look and experience life as a Black individual.")
3.) Who you are based on culture ("I'm Filipino and Black but I connect more with my Filipino heritage.")
We should let multiracial folks make that decision on their own instead of us trying to fit them into boxes that we prefer.
But, even better (IMO) is the belief that multiracial folks are 100% of everything. 100% Black. 100% Filipino. 100% them. We can still address colorism and privilege without striping them of their right to identify.
If they wanna self hate and neglect their POC side in favor of their whiteness, so be it. It's their loss.
Labels:
book,
book: 5 stars,
children,
multicultural,
non-fiction,
young adult
Wednesday, August 21, 2019
The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer by Siddhartha Mukherjee
★★★★★
This book is impressively approachable. I found the author's writing exceptionally concise and engaging, though admittedly I got a bit muddled in trying to understand the DNA research towards the end.
It's a sweeping account chronicling everything related to cancer from causes and prevention to detection and treatment, from laboratory scientists making discoveries to physician researchers running clinical trials to the individual patients facing down cancer with bravery and dignity.
As the author lays out the history of cancer, there are incredible stories of pathologists and chemists and physician-scientists whose individual contributions came together over many decades to eventually result in the discovery of a new cancer or a new chemical to treat cancer. It was nothing short of fascinating to follow the history of chemotherapy through textile dyes and mustard gas. Ideas changed and developed and were tied back to concepts first proposed centuries earlier.
Much of the history of cancer research has taken place in Boston, and growing up in this area, it was particularly enlightening for me to learn about the stories behind well-known institutions and individuals like the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, the Jimmy Fund, and Vannevar Bush. (As a student at MIT, I walked by a room named for him almost every day, and attended events in the room, but never had any idea who he was.) I even learned that a nearby town, Framingham, is the site of a massive epidemiological study that has led to a number of medical findings.
Remarkably - and this is altogether beside the point of the book - I could not help but take note, especially in today's political climate, how a great many of the researchers in the U.S. who made strides in the fight against cancer were immigrants or from immigrant families. I also saw parallels between the tobacco industry's refusal to acknowledge the dangers of cigarette smoking and the present-day gun industry's refusal to acknowledge the dangers of gun violence. If Big Tobacco, "an industry once thought virtually impregnable," (p. 267) could eventually be well-regulated, then maybe there is hope that the gun industry could one day be well-regulated, too.
On a personal note, this book was a gift to my husband (a teacher) from a student who wanted to share the book that had an outsized impact on him, inspiring him to want to become a doctor. The book sat on our shelf for years, and I didn't pick it up until I was diagnosed with breast cancer myself. Suddenly, I felt drawn to the book, and reading it felt like a kind of opposition research. While the book discusses many different cancers from leukemia to breast cancer to prostate cancer, a good portion of the history of cancer centers on breast cancer. I repeatedly felt that much of the information was directly relevant to me. I certainly now have a better understanding of how surgery, radiation, chemotherapy, and hormone therapy are all tools in an oncologist's toolbox, but figuring out which tool will work, and how exactly to use it, is highly dependent on the specific stage and type of cancer being treated.
What is clear from this book is that I am thankful for - indeed I feel deeply indebted to - every person ever drawn to study, treat, and attempt to cure cancer, every patient whose diagnosis, illness, treatment, and death helped to further the understanding of cancer and push the community towards a cure. Poignancy abounds in the history of cancer. Scientists who discovered the healing properties of radiation, only to succumb themselves to radiation-induced cancer. Patients who made up the statistics that drove the research towards a cure, but who were all individual persons with families and interests and full lives they weren't ready to leave.
It's been a very long, arduous, terrifying fight. The descriptions of the earliest mastectomies are horrifying, and I feel immensely grateful for being lucky enough to be diagnosed in 2019, when anesthesia, sterilization, and pain killers are customary parts of the procedure. Particularly astonishing to me was the realization that much of my treatment as a cancer patient is heavily reliant on discoveries and advances in cancer medicine that took place relatively recently, over the course of my own lifetime.
I would not go so far as to recommend this book to cancer patients. I might be a weirdo in the extent to which I am curious about what I am up against. But it's definitely a book worth reading for anyone who wants to know more about cancer, for whatever reason.
This book is impressively approachable. I found the author's writing exceptionally concise and engaging, though admittedly I got a bit muddled in trying to understand the DNA research towards the end.
It's a sweeping account chronicling everything related to cancer from causes and prevention to detection and treatment, from laboratory scientists making discoveries to physician researchers running clinical trials to the individual patients facing down cancer with bravery and dignity.
As the author lays out the history of cancer, there are incredible stories of pathologists and chemists and physician-scientists whose individual contributions came together over many decades to eventually result in the discovery of a new cancer or a new chemical to treat cancer. It was nothing short of fascinating to follow the history of chemotherapy through textile dyes and mustard gas. Ideas changed and developed and were tied back to concepts first proposed centuries earlier.
Much of the history of cancer research has taken place in Boston, and growing up in this area, it was particularly enlightening for me to learn about the stories behind well-known institutions and individuals like the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, the Jimmy Fund, and Vannevar Bush. (As a student at MIT, I walked by a room named for him almost every day, and attended events in the room, but never had any idea who he was.) I even learned that a nearby town, Framingham, is the site of a massive epidemiological study that has led to a number of medical findings.
Remarkably - and this is altogether beside the point of the book - I could not help but take note, especially in today's political climate, how a great many of the researchers in the U.S. who made strides in the fight against cancer were immigrants or from immigrant families. I also saw parallels between the tobacco industry's refusal to acknowledge the dangers of cigarette smoking and the present-day gun industry's refusal to acknowledge the dangers of gun violence. If Big Tobacco, "an industry once thought virtually impregnable," (p. 267) could eventually be well-regulated, then maybe there is hope that the gun industry could one day be well-regulated, too.
On a personal note, this book was a gift to my husband (a teacher) from a student who wanted to share the book that had an outsized impact on him, inspiring him to want to become a doctor. The book sat on our shelf for years, and I didn't pick it up until I was diagnosed with breast cancer myself. Suddenly, I felt drawn to the book, and reading it felt like a kind of opposition research. While the book discusses many different cancers from leukemia to breast cancer to prostate cancer, a good portion of the history of cancer centers on breast cancer. I repeatedly felt that much of the information was directly relevant to me. I certainly now have a better understanding of how surgery, radiation, chemotherapy, and hormone therapy are all tools in an oncologist's toolbox, but figuring out which tool will work, and how exactly to use it, is highly dependent on the specific stage and type of cancer being treated.
What is clear from this book is that I am thankful for - indeed I feel deeply indebted to - every person ever drawn to study, treat, and attempt to cure cancer, every patient whose diagnosis, illness, treatment, and death helped to further the understanding of cancer and push the community towards a cure. Poignancy abounds in the history of cancer. Scientists who discovered the healing properties of radiation, only to succumb themselves to radiation-induced cancer. Patients who made up the statistics that drove the research towards a cure, but who were all individual persons with families and interests and full lives they weren't ready to leave.
It's been a very long, arduous, terrifying fight. The descriptions of the earliest mastectomies are horrifying, and I feel immensely grateful for being lucky enough to be diagnosed in 2019, when anesthesia, sterilization, and pain killers are customary parts of the procedure. Particularly astonishing to me was the realization that much of my treatment as a cancer patient is heavily reliant on discoveries and advances in cancer medicine that took place relatively recently, over the course of my own lifetime.
I would not go so far as to recommend this book to cancer patients. I might be a weirdo in the extent to which I am curious about what I am up against. But it's definitely a book worth reading for anyone who wants to know more about cancer, for whatever reason.
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