Book Review: American Born Chinese by Gene Luen Yang

Forgive me if this review is short; I made the mistake of reading this and then avoiding the review like it was made of plague until today. Part of the reason is because I’m lazy. Another part is because I sort of lost my drive and zeal for reading and have been overdosing on Dog, the Bounty Hunter.

But I’m back, baby!

So what can I tell you about American Born Chinese? Yang’s graphic novel is actually three stories in one. The first is a mythical folk tale about The Monkey King, who, despite being a powerful god, is laughed at by the other gods. The second tale is of Jin Wang, a Chinese-American boy who endures the pressures of being a minority in his new school. And finally, the third story follows the life of a white boy named Danny and his Chinese cousin Chin-Kee, who visits every year to wreck havoc on Danny’s life. Chin-Kee is the ultimate in Chinese stereotype—his dialogue is written phonetically, his clothing is stereotypically Chinese (right down to the conical hat); Yang is almost vicious in his depiction of Chin-Kee—the words of all Chinese stereotypes embody the character.

These three stories appear to run parrallel together, but at the end the characters begin to appear in each other’s stories.

I don’t know much about Chinese-American culture, but I can understand the pressures of wanting to be someone you are not. I think everyone has at some point in their life longed for something different, but it’s not possible to change who you are fundamentally.

Deep down, the story of American Born Chinese is that you should accept your heritage, and love your family and friends, no matter what their culture is. It may take a demi-god Monkey disguised as a Chinese stereotype to knock that into you, but ultimately you can’t run away from who you are.

It’s an old lesson, but it’s told in a unique way with lovely cartoon graphics, and a fun set of stories. I felt like I learned a bit more about what it’s like to be Chinese in America.

A good graphic novel, and I would even recommend it for children. The lesson is easy to grasp and the story moves quickly enough that you can share it with your kids.

Rating: Four stars

Book Review: The Fountain by Darren Aranofsky and Kent Williams

Darren Aranofsky’s The Fountain (published by Vertigo Comics in 2005) is a visually interesting over-sized graphic novel based on the movie of the same name. Published a year before the film was released, Aranofsky’s intentions were to preserve a part of his project just in case Hollywood “f**ks him over.” A prudent notion, considering his film was met with mixed (and confused) reactions.

Having never watched the film, I borrowed The Fountain from the library thinking I could read this instead and get pretty much the same thing, albeit with ninety percent less Hugh Jackman. The film runs at about an hour and a half; in today’s world of thirty hour Lord of the Ring marathons, this is a fairly quick watch. But at 176 big pages full of cool drawings, the graphic novel wins. I think I read this in under an hour.

As can be imagined, the story is similar to the film. It revolves around the same couple in three different time periods—1535 Spain and Central America, present day, and “the future” wherein we will all be riding around in giant space bubbles in the nude, if Aranofsky gets his way.

The central theme of all three stories is the loss of the great love. Tomas traipses through each time period, bellowing, crying and nearly stamping his feet in effort to save the woman he loves. Inevitably, they all die, though. Sorry, I didn’t give away the ending. It’s pretty much a given.

I wasn’t terribly impressed with the graphic novel, and I can understand why the film was met with mixed reviews. The story is a great idea. It has so much Romeo-and-Juliet potential, it could be Romeo and Juliet. But the execution falls flat on its face. The novel is drawn by Kent Williams, an artist widely respected in the industry. While some images are visually spectacular, there are parts of the graphic novel wherein background characters are little more than drawn lines. Perhaps one could argue that Williams and Aranofsky are trying to emphasize Tomas’s intense focus on his love, and so the rest of the world appears little more than hazy outlines, but it just looks unfinished.

See for yourself:


Each story ends with Tomas’s love dying in some fashion. In 1553, she sacrifices herself for the glory of her queendom. In the present day, she quietly dies in a hospital bed as Tomas receives word that they have found a cure for her cancer. Most bizarrely, in the future (remember, floating through space in a bubble), she is sacrificed to give life to the tree inside the bubble.

That I don’t get. The first two, I’m cool on. Tragic, romantic, ideas I can grasp. The final pair I can’t come to terms with. Why are they in that bubble? What’s the point of her dying if Tomas is just going to float through space alone?

Perhaps it’s just too meta for me.

Rating: Three stars

Book Review: Zot:! The Complete Black and White Collection by Scott McCloud

Zot! is a comic created by Scott McCloud, who is better known for having written and drawn Understanding Comics, a comprehensive work on the creation of comics. I found Zot! The Complete Black and White Collection at my my library after not finding a book I was looking for. I seem to have this allergy that prevents me from leaving the library empty-handed. So, I chose Zot!

Zot! is a series that combines the superhero elements of classic comic books with the newer genre of real-life, relationship based graphic novels. I suppose if you were to ask me the difference between a comic book and a graphic novel, that would be it, although that's not necessarily always the case. The definition of a graphic novel and a comic book is highly debated, and this review isn't where I would necessarily lay my lines down about that.

Anyway, I digress.

Zot! tells the story of a blonde-haired superboy named Zot who comes from an alternate earth, and his relationship with Jenny Weaver, a teenage girl from our own earth. The first half of hte collection is comprised of the 'superhero' stories in the series. Zot (real name Zachary Paleozogt) battles a host of villains who are all in some form or another caricatures of the villains McCloud grew up on.

The second half of the collection deals with more introspective, personal stories. McCloud deviates from the classic superhero format by literally exiling Zot in Jenny's (i.e. our) earth and moving the focus away from him. Entire issues of Zot! are devoted to characters that were introduced as minor players in previous issues, such as Ronnie, a comic book obsessed school friend, or Terry, Jenny's best friend who comes out in an issue.

Zot! was published in comic form from 1984 to 1991, and the stories that McCloud introduces, if you look at the time he was writing and drawing them in, are ground breaking. My favourite story has to be Jenny and Zot's first time. The story is left open to allow the reader to decide for themselves if anything actually happens.

What I liked most about the collection was McCloud's commentary. He provides insight into his drawing habits and his personal thoughts about each story. You can really tell he's an incredible perfectionist and it pains him in some ways to publish this collection, warts included. Personally, I didn't think there were any warts, but I'm not an artist, let alone a graphic novel artist. I liked knowing what he thinks of his own stories.

The stories themselves were fun to read. While not terribly complicated by any standards (McCloud admits that he had little knowledge of how to write a story when he first started drawing Zot!), they're interesting and humourous, as well as touching. I could understand Jenny's (I want to say motivation here, but it's not a play...c'mon Olga, work that vocabulary!) desire to flee her world and live in Zot's, where everything is just better. We've all been there before, and we don't have to be fifteen to feel like that.

The characters also made Zot! a good read. Each one, be it a villain or a friend, has a story and they're all interesting. I could go on and on. Seriously, if you happen to stumble upon this collection at the library, I suggest you take it out. It's not McCloud's best work, but it's a really great read nonetheless.

Rating: Four Stars

Book Review: Stuck in the Middle: 17 Comics From an Unpleasant Age edited by Ariel Schrag

Stuck in the Middle: 17 Comics from an Unpleasant Age collects the unpleasant, embarrassing, and often humourous memories of a group of artists from the junior high years. Best friends, horse camp, betrayals, first kisses, and parachute pants all combine to breathe life into the childhood memories that so many of us try and repress. It’s true. We all have, to varying degrees, really effed up stories of pre-teenage years.

In the spirit of Stuck in the Middle, I give you a tale of my own from those tender years when I thought in all honesty I would grow up to be the bride of Leonardo DiCaprio (or one of the Backstreet Boys.)

I never went to middle school, but that didn't prevent me from going through similarly painful juvenile rights of passage. As a child my family moved around a fair bit. By the time I was in the seventh grade, I was in my sixth grade school. As everyone knows, moving not only uproots you, it also turns you into the newest pariah of any given school. I don’t blame my parents for changing my schools very often, but I certainly know that I will never do the same to my own children.

In the seventh grade, after moving once again in the summertime, I happened to be close enough to go back to my very first elementary school. Figuring that I would at least have somewhat of a connection to these group of children, I begged, whined and complained until I was enrolled in St. J’s once again.

Of course, nothing ever goes right, especially not when you’re the new kid. I was immediately ostracized by former friends, having made the grave mistake of leaving on a bad note the first time around—I stole a robin’s egg from my class and was caught. That was the very last thing my schoolmates remembered about me before I moved away, and so I was the pariah once again.

But, I was resourceful. I made friends quickly, girls who came to St. J’s long after the incident, and thus had no memory of my egg-stealing.

Fairly soon I was fully embraced by a group of about five or six girls. The number of us changed constantly since we were always not speaking to this girl or that girl, but for the most part we got on really well.

The problem with prepubescent girls is, they are like mercury. Moods and alliances could change in an instant, without provocation. We were like ticking time-bombs, ready to go off at one another.

This became a harsh reality for me one evening. Out of nowhere I received a phone call from R.—she accused me of making fun of her voice. Bewildered, having done no such thing, I denied it vehemently, but there was no use. I was already a Benedict Arnold. The news spread quickly—Olga’s a teaser. And that was that.

The next day at school I was ignored by all of my friends, left to stew in the mess that I had made for myself by allowing myself to become a target.

Heartbroken, I was forced to tell my mother the details (after being yelled at on the phone once again by a friend the following night). My mother was livid, and no doubt even more bewildered than I was, having received a hysterical and no-doubt confusing explanation from a distraught pre-teen.

The next day, she took me to school. Instead of dropping me off, she went down to the schoolyard with me, and—to my horror—bitched out the very girls who had ostracized me for the past thirty-six hours in broken English.

God bless my mother. She was my greatest champion, fighting that battle as best she could with half-finished sentences growled at the girls. At least they had the courtesy of looking shame-faced.

I was convinced this was the end of my social life completely. R. and the rest of the girls apologized half-heartedly in front of my mother. When she left, I was left alone once again.

But then something miraculous happened. At lunchtime, I was invited to sit with them. Once more I was welcomed back into the fold, and in the blink of an eye all was forgotten. There was no need to discuss what just happened—it was over! Why bring up the pain, when we could just move on with our lives and share a bag of Doritos and talk about our crushes again?

I’ve never been able to forget that event, even though the details have become fuzzy. I still don’t quite get what happened, but it serves as a reminder that middle school—your thirteenth year especially—is f**king scary. You couldn’t trust anyone, and you couldn’t be trusted. That best friend who just yesterday was braiding your hair over lunch, could be pointing the finger of blame on you today.

I’m glad I’m not thirteen anymore. This collection of comics from that unsettling age is a great journey down memory lane, but it makes you think about your own hellish recollections. The best part of the book is knowing that everyone goes through the same thing—no one gets out of middle school without having been scarred by it.

Rating: Four Stars

On the Eve of 2009

Happy New Year's Eve, everyone! Hope your celebrations go well, and all that jazz.

I've thought about making some bookish new year's resolutions, but I can't really think of anything other than to read more. I have joined three challenges, all meant to get me to read more, and I think I will; even if I don't read all of the books on my lists, at least I will try. I don't think the point of new year's resolutions is to reach them all; it's an occasion to set yourself new goals for the year, or remember the goals you set for yourself last year, and think about your accomplishments from the previous year. Once you pick yourself up off the floor from New Year's Eve, that is...

Maybe that's why New Year's Day is such a perfect day for reflection? If you've done the night before proud, you're lying in bed anyway. So once you've slept off that hangover, you've watched enough movies to make you go blind, you can start thinking about the year ahead. What's in store for you? What are you planning on doing? Who was that guy from the night before?

On a related note, I had a most extraordinary day yesterday. I had a haircut appointment at 6:00 o'clock that evening. Having arrived about an hour early (why drive all the way home and then go back downtown, right?), I went to the Toronto Reference Library intent on grabbing a book and reading for the forty-five minutes, instead of window-shopping. Yorkville is lovely, and there are many wonderful shops (I'm looking at you, The Cookbook Store), but it's like taunting a starving dog with a big marrow bone—just plain cruel.

I didn't miss the window-shopping at all. The Toronto Reference Library has an extensive graphic novel collection. I was in heaven. I picked out Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid on Earth (book 1 in my challenge reading list!) and found a table (with a cute guy already there, no less...reading's great; reading in the presence of a hottie is even better, though).

I didn't get to finish my book. Wasn't even a quarter of the way into it when I had to go, but I knew I would be back. So perhaps this is a new year's resolution? Or maybe just a plan: I'm going to go back to the library on a weekend in January, and I'm going to spend the whole day there reading. My favourite Mexican restaurant is across the street as well. I'm considering splurging and having lunch there or perhaps capping the day off with dinner with a friend there.

If nothing else (other than reading more), I plan on doing that more often in 2009—enjoy days with myself. I know it seems silly to have to plan them, but I think we all do. We're accustomed to making plans with other people, but not with ourselves.

Book Review: Laika by Nick Abadzis

I should have known this book would be sad. I should have known, because I know the basic story of Laika, the first animal in space. Launched in 1957 in Sputnik II, Laika survived a total of five hours in space before succumbing to heat exhaustion and stress. She became the first animal to orbit the earth, and the first to die in space.

Nick Abadzis details the short life and death of Laika (Kudryavka, to the scientists and lab technicians who knew her best—she is actually renamed by the scientists shortly before launch), her trainer Yelena, and Koralev, the chief designer of the Sputniks in his graphic novel.

After the successful launch of Sputnik I, Koralev is ordered by Khrushchev to build and launch another satelitte to be launched by the anniversary of the October Revolution, a deadline only a month away. To make the launch stand out from the original Sputnik, they decide to send an animal. Little is known about the conditions a living organism can withstand in space, and with such a short deadline, they can make it a one-way trip.

These are the facts surrounding Laika's doomed flight. To fill out the story, Abadzis creates a world for Laika, focusing on her relationship with her trainer, Yelena. The real sorrow lies in how this relationship grows, and must ultimately be cut off. There is really nothing Yelena or anyone else can do to prevent the dog's death, and it makes the launch a sombre affair.

As the launch approaches the characters (the historical figures, indeed) try to rationalize to themselves and each other that the dog's death is for a great cause, but they cannot deny that it is a sad way for an animal to die.

I've never read anything so sad as this simple story about a Russian dog in space. It's made even more poignant by the final page of the book, a quote taken from Oleg Gazenko, the scientist who chose Laika:

"The more time passes, the more I'm sorry about it. We did not learn enough from the mission to justify the death of the dog."

The facts exist, cold and austere. Abadzis gives Laika a new story, one that shows that she was loved, even as an experimental animal. Her death may have been unnecessary, but she will always be remembered.

This is an excellent graphic novel, but I wouldn't read it if you've just lost a pet.