Kira-Kira-- Cynthia Kadohata

"She was going to be the best in the world and live at the top of everything, and she was going to bring her family with her. This is one of the themes of my sister's life."

Lynn, through the eyes of her younger sister Katie, is perfect. Lynn teaches Katie that life is beautiful ("kira-kira" means "glittering"-- it's Katie's first word, which Lynn taught her after many nights of looking up at the stars). Their parents also leave it to Lynn to break difficult news to Katie (and before her first day of school, Lynn tells Katie that she may be called names and treated as different). Katie doesn't want to do anything without Lynn, but when her sister is struck with mysterious illness, Katie has no choice.

The focus of Kira-Kira is the bittersweet sibling relationship, but the book is extraordinary in its exploration of growing up nikkei in the Jim Crow south. In a world divided along the lines of black and white, Katie doesn't know how she fits in. Katie's parents, like the other members of the small Japanese community, work in the chicken hatcheries in town. The hours are long and hard, without even breaks to use the bathroom, and the wealthy owner of the enterprise tries to crush the workers’ attempts to unionize.

I wish these compelling features of the book had more been the focus, but the family issues make this an accessible read.

Kiffe-Kiffe Tomorrow-- Faïza Guène

I had high hopes for this book. I am seriously obsessed with the dysfunctional construct that is French multiculturalism. I read a lot of Franco-Maghrebi literature in college. I am deeply interested in the narratives of immigrant youth. On all fronts, I should have loved Kiffe Kiffe Tomorrow.

False logic. I was disappointed because Kiffe Kiffe Tomorrow is really just another story about life in the projects. I use the word "story" very loosely here because nothing happens over the course of the book. Doria lives in the suburbs of Paris with her mother. Her alcoholic father returned to Morocco to marry someone else in hopes of having a son. Doria fails out of school, her mother is underemployed, the neighbors have it rough, cousin goes to prison, the social workers just don't understand, etc. Mom learns to read, Doria goes to hairdressing school and gets over her crush on the drug-addict neighbor, optimism replaces some of her cynicism. Fin.

Guène, raised in the projects she writes about, was only 19 when she wrote Kiffe Kiffe Tomorrow. Girl keeps it real, which I admire. The narrative voice is sarcastic and has a young feel to it-- I'll bet it's delightful to read in French. That said, I found the story itself uninspiring and uninspired. I can't say how many books there are like this in France, but I can see why it got a lot of attention if there is nothing richer to compare it to.

Swimming in the Monsoon Sea-- Shyam Selvadurai

Swimming in the Monsoon Sea is billed as an LGBTQ book for young adults, but I think it's got something much more universal at its heart. This is very much a book about that dark, irrational place where we live at some point in our young lives. This particular book is about being 14, being alone, being a young man, having stuff in your life that needs figuring out, and not being totally in control of how you think and feel.

Amrith is adopted at the age of 6 by his mother's best friend when both his parents die in a freak accident. He loves his Aunty Bundle, Uncle Lucky, and adopted sisters, and it's clear that they love him too. But Amrith does not have anyone of his own-- no friends, no flesh-and-blood relations. He is estranged from his parents' families until his cousin Niresh shows up for a visit. Amrith's affection for Niresh is even stronger than he anticipates, and Amrith soon discovers depths of himself he didn't know existed--love, but also jealousy. (In an effective albeit not-so-subtle allusion, Amrith's drama society is performing a scene from Othello.) By the end of the book, Amrith has started to reconcile some of his complicated feelings about his past, his family, and his identity.

The metaphor of the monsoon sea is perfect for adolescence-- after a monsoon, the ocean becomes muddy and turbulent, with strong currents that can pull you under. Amrith is a good kid, but at times he is possessed by malice and anger, capable of hurting the people he loves the most.

The writing is simple but highly evocative. Selvadurai sets the scene in his childhood home-- Sri Lanka circa 1980-- complete with his fond memories of the place. Very low on plot action, which might be a deal-breaker for some, but the emotional side of this book is incredible.

Dogeaters-- Jessica Hagedorn

OK, I made a mistake here. Dogeaters is probably not a young adult book, despite the fact that one of the protagonists is a 10 year-old girl. I have been reading off the beaten path here, and I knew this was bound to happen at some point—I just didn’t imagine it happening quite in this way.

Dogeaters takes place in the Philippines in the 1950s. Said 10 year-old protagonist, Rio, is a great character. Her relationship with her grandmother (“Lola Narcissa”) is particularly touching. Lola would rather spend her time with the servants, eating peasant food, than attending the family’s lavish dinner parties with powerful businessmen and generals as the guests of honor. Rio’s family enjoys a life of privilege, while other characters do what they need to in order to survive. Their lives intersect in a series of events that explore dynamics of power—political, sexual, and cultural.

There is some content here that I think a mature highschooler could handle: one of the chief protagonists earns his living as a prostitute, and there is a particularly disturbing scene involving abuse of a female political prisoner. Also, the writing style is such that I would probably need to re-read the book to fully appreciate it, preferably after doing some independent historical research.

Despite these reservations, Dogeaters is a concentrated wonder of a book. Hagedorn’s writing is rich and evocative, narrated from multiple perspectives and full of vignettes. Her style brings to mind those of authors Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Salman Rushdie—authors who are frequently read in advanced high school and pre-college curricula. I think Dogeaters might be an interesting addition to the reading diet of such readers, who (like me) will find it challenging but also rewarding.

A Taste of Salt-- Frances Temple

Haiti has been in the news, and in the minds and hearts of many, since the earthquake earlier this month. My wonderful friend E— a middle school teacher and social activist— loaned this book to me, and we had a discussion about how she plans to use the book to give her students some context.

Quite honestly, I struggled with A Taste of Salt, and I wondered if younger readers would also. It certainly gives a vivid sense of place, but its historical perspective has not aged well. (I suppose this is the price someone pays for trying to write about emerging democracy—so much for “new chapters.”)

A Taste of Salt takes place amidst the events leading up to Haiti's first free election in decades. Soon-to-be President Jean-Bertrand Aristide’s inspiring words are the so-called “taste of salt”— the legendary cure wakes zombies from their trance and restores them to life. Aristide first appears in the story as the founder of the home for street children where Djo lives. Later, he is the pastor who delivers the sermons that give Jeremie her political awakening.

Djo and Jeremie’s stories make for interesting reading. We see childhoods in a street boys’ home and a neighborhood built on a garbage dump, the religious education system and bonded labor in the Dominican Republic, a firebombing and riots. Destiny, wrought here rather heavy-handedly, designs that Djo and Jeremie will become part of this new era in Haiti together.

That last bit was the rub for me, considering the turn that history took after A Taste of Salt was published in 1992. Basically, if hope is this story’s lifeblood, the whole thing is eviscerated by the corruption, the human rights violations, the coup, and Aristide’s exile to South Africa. The narrative is possessed a sense of history we know to be dead. It is (yes!) a zombie, but there's no waking it-- Jeremie, you should have thought twice before turning down that scholarship to the Sorbonne.

On a much more compassionate note, you can still support the ongoing relief effort-- you can find a great roundup of links here.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn- Betty Smith

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn came with me on a cross-country flight. On the plane and in the airport, three different people came up to me and asked if I was enjoying the book, because they remembered reading it when they were young. For many, the book is not only about the experience of childhood, but part of childhood itself.

Not so with me. I first attempted this book as a 12 year-old; I abandoned it because the first scene was just too rosy—it opens on 11 year-old Francie enjoying a glorious summer Saturday. She buys penny candy (“oh! The glorious things I could buy with this nickel!”), checks out a library book (“I am reading every book in the library, starting at the beginning of the alphabet, oh how I wish I could read all the books in the world!”), and surveys her neighborhood from the fire escape of her home (“isn’t Brooklyn the most wonderful place you could ever imagine?”).

At the onset, I was irritated by Francie’s naivete. But then I felt like a huge jerk, because 50 pages in I realized that Francie’s childlike wonder was illustrated largely so readers could observe its near-instant evaporation. The charming father slowly drinks himself to death, the hard-working mother barely conceals her favoritism for the other child, and Francie grows up feeling painfully alone. She plays “North Pole” with the family when they have no more food in the house. She receives poor grades in school when she writes about her life and a teacher lectures her that “poverty, starvation and drunkenness are ugly subjects to choose.” She is nearly abducted by a rapist.

There is a hard edge to the narrative, but it is not without sweetness— the grim bits are folded in the golden honey of nostalgia, by turns poignant and cloying. Ultimately, I was won over by Francie—as the story wore on and she was faced the premature responsibilities and disappointments of adulthood, I was relieved when her old sentimentality and sensitivity bobbed to the surface. I was also touched by Francie’s complicated and yet kindred relationship with her mother, and their shared resolve to keep the family alive.

The most compelling character, however, is Brooklyn itself. The book offers a window into early 20th century New York City, the indignities of tenement life, the troubled diversity of immigrant neighborhoods, and the anticipation of the Great War. The horrors and wonders of Brooklyn are what make this book, particularly for those who know and love Williamsburg.

The ending of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn seems facile but, frankly, had the book ended 20 pages earlier it would have destroyed me. I am therefore willing to forgive the dubious/ highly convenient change in circumstances that allows Francie’s family to pull through. This plot resolution is essential, because otherwise this book would be called A Tree Tries Desperately to Survive in Brooklyn and Tragically Fails.