The most recommended books on Japanese Americans

The moment I fall in love with a character, I will follow them anywhere. Toss in an intriguing plot, a huge extended family, and heart-warming humor, you get a recipe for a fun, fast read. This first in a chapter book series stars eight-year-old Jasmine Toguchi who’s jealous that her older sister gets to participate in the New Year festivities of making mochi, a Japanese rice cake (and one of my favorite desserts). Jasmine decides she’ll be the first girl to pound the rice—something her sister has definitely never done. Readers will cheer for this flamingo-loving tree climber as she hammers out her own path.  

Like so many of the books I love, this book isn’t afraid to show a queer couple in distress.

I love this book for its brutality, its interracial couple and the dynamics that entails, for its detour to Japan, for its scrumptious descriptions of food, and its emphasis on food as a means of connection.

It’s beautiful, honest, raw, and contemporary in all the best ways.

I didn't get into graphic novels until I was an adult. This one’s about a pompous armchair architect whose career was once promising, but not anymore due to his impractical theories.

Asterios nevertheless has this highfalutin view of himself–and is in a contentious relationship with a younger woman who idolizes him at first until she realizes that he’s washed up. It's such a situationship. But the breakups, non-breakups, and everything between leads to a very tender moment at the end. Yeah, pick this one up.

A government report that doesn’t read like a government report.

In 1980, the U.S. Congress voted to form the Commission to extensively research the Japanese American World War II experience and make recommendations to remedy past government actions.

This is the most extensive and comprehensive coverage of that period in American history, which includes lesser-known facts such as the U.S. government-arranged abductions of Japanese Latin Americans, and the forced evacuation of the indigenous of the Aleutian and Pribilof Islands in Alaska.

The Commission’s report led to the Civil Liberties Act of 1988, commonly known as “redress,” which mandated an apology and $20,000 each to living survivors of that experience.

This compilation has been my consistent go-to reference source, a mountain of research from which I have often excavated.

This historical novel pulses with empathy, humanely portrayed growth, and quiet unease, a combination which speaks to the social justice warrior and history fan in me.

I loved the book's exquisite exploration of 1940s Los Angeles and the collision of cultures as displaced Japanese-American citizens returned from internment camps to their old neighborhoods after the end of World War II. A young wife's tentative search for a shadowy murderer drives this mystery, which is a stunning sequel to Hirahara's acclaimed novel, Clark and Division.

I did not initially include this book until I took a class of middle school English students to the library and more than half of them went to the graphic novel shelves. Who better to tell the story of the U.S. version of concentration camps – internment camps for loyal U.S. citizens of Japanese descent – than George Takei of Star Trek fame (and more)?

Pictures really do tell more than a thousand words. Takei’s autobiographical novel offers moments of joy but paints an infuriating picture of the United States at its worst in the Twentieth Century. The loyalty of Takei’s father to the nation that imprisoned the family and so many others can seem like a contradiction, but it is perhaps the most rewarding component of the book. The illustrations are excellent.

Susan Meissner is my go-to for wonderfully deep characterization in time-slip novels. The Last Year of the War tells a much less familiar part of WWII, the horrifying way many German and Japanese Americans were interned in camps in Texas during the war years. Elise Sontag is a typical American teenager from Iowa who meets fellow internee Mariko Inoue, a Japanese-American teen from Los Angeles, at the camp. The story is filled with heartache and twists and turns and has a lovely present-day thread that delights and surprises. 

As an author, I am often inspired when I stumble upon little know historical facts as Susan has done here. I incorporated the little known Coast Guard Mounted Patrol into my dual-time of my book. 

If you want to delve into first-hand accounts of what life was like in the incarceration camps, you’ll find a lot of books for that, but you could be overwhelmed in the process. What I like about Kamei’s recent book is that it is a handy compilation of over a hundred engaging, heartbreaking, and inspiring descriptions of incarceration from those who directly experienced and fought against the prejudice that created it. Best of all, you can use this book as a jumping-off point for learning more about any of the individuals you encounter here. 

You will never look at (or wear) a kimono the same way after reading Amy Sueyoshi’s ingenious investigation into the making of an American leisure culture awash in stereotypes of Japanese and Chinese sexuality. With a focus on San Francisco, Sueyoshi’s book reveals how Anglo-European Americans appropriated “Oriental” dress and design aesthetics, even as the white press and legal system displayed overt hostility toward people of Asian descent. This book is one of my very favorites among a growing body of work that centers on the making of racial identities within histories of sexuality. Sueyoshi is a superb writer, and in this book, she excels at honoring the humanity of Asian-descended people within a white leisure culture that insisted on their inferiority.

I loved this book so much that after reading it, and returning it to the library, I wanted to buy my own copy. I wanted this book to sit on my shelf, right behind my desk, even if I never read it again, though I know I will.

The Swimmers is a book that swallowed me up into a world, which at first, I didn’t quite understand. Yet, I didn’t care. I would have gone anywhere that the author was taking me. The language carried me along, the voice touched me deeply, and finally, as the story became clear, broke my heart into a million pieces.

Just when I think there can be no new, original way to tell a story, I turn around and look at my copy of The Swimmers.