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Julie Otsuka’s second novel is a quiet and disquieting story of the Issei. Written in the first-person plural from the point of view of the picture brides who become wives and then mothers, The Buddha in the Attic begins with the uneasy journey across the ocean. We follow the women and girls (as young as the early teens) as they experience disappointment and heartbreak with only flashes of satisfaction and hope. All the time there is a sense of impending doom that will snatch all of them away — and of course it happens. The narrative structure allows for multiple and sometimes contrary impressions while providing a uniform voice. Consider the experience of the women on their first night with their husbands. The tied us up and took us facedown on threadbare carpets that smelled of mouse droppings and mold. They took us frenziedly, on top of yellow-stained sheets. They took us easily, and with a minimum of fuss, for some of us had been taken many times before. They took us drunkenly. They took us roughly, recklessly, and with no mind for our pain. The voice is most effective when capturing the paranoid time after Pearl Harbor was bombed and men are being rounded up and taken away after possibly having their name on a list. The list was written in indelible red ink. The list was typewritten on index cards. The list did not exist. The list existed, but only in the mind of the director of military intelligence, who was known for his perfect recall. The list was a figment of our imaginations. The Buddha in the Attic is a short book that also happens to be a quick read — Otsuka has chosen her words her words with care and the text is tight enough to repel rain. It is among the best fictional renderings of the stories of early Asian Americans who were allowed to exist in this country but never truly live.
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WSJ reviews IQ84 by Haruki Murakami. I can’t think of a writer that a person of our generation might care about as much as he. His books haven’t all been made into huge block buster movies. There’s some arty ones, or at least one arty one, but for the most part, they haven’t worked out. Perhaps his novels are ones that can’t be made into film because they are created for the written experience. Murakami’s words are ones that are meant to be read, not said or visualized since the prose is special (at least to many). It’s what makes him popular and what makes his books sell even when they’re behemoths. It’ll take a special mind to make it all work on screen, but for now, a near 1000 page book is something you have to work through and endure as much as enjoy. Therefore, here’s a review of the book and it’s not by me. The illustration shows some age rather than the same old press photo that’s been used for a decade. He’s a special character and as much as he’s intriguing, he’s also a dinosaur in a way. A symbol. A person who isn’t the public rock star that he could be. A guy who stands out for his actual writing, rather than what he says publicly. While writing seems like it’s gone way of photography – digital cameras and blogs changing the face of what’s pro vs not pro, Haruki Murakami still stands up.
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Although I never got to see Black Flag during its glory days, I did catch several of singer Henry Rollins’ early spoken-word shows around L.A. as well as many of the Rollins Band’s first gigs. Sweaty, smart, and life affirming. Many punks griped when he signed to Interscope and started showing up on Gap billboards, but I thought it was rad of him to take such deals and start a book publishing company with the dough. Cole, Cave, Selby–what could be cooler than publishing your friends and heroes, not to mention your own words? That seemed like a stretch for the the buff, tattooed, long-haired/shaved-head frontman but he’s gone even further since then. Acting in movies. Raising funds and attention for the West Memphis 3 (I finally did see him sing Black Flag songs at Amoeba promoting that particular record). Hosting a cool talk show. Starting a must-hear radio show. Writing a compelling column for the LA Weekly. And now publishing a coffee-table book of photography.

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Black Powder Red Earth Part 1

I first came in contact with Jon Chang through his grindcore and thrash bands (GridLink, Hayaino Daisuke, and Discordance Axis), whose subject matter ranges from hardcore anime allusions, to hard sci-fi and obscure horror references, to no-holds-barred observations on war. It’s the latter that provides the content of Chang’s first comic book. Black Powder \\ Red Earth tells the story that Chang’s company’s Facebook game is based upon. It’s as obsessive in its details account of private security contracting in the Middle East as it is gripping with its political thriller tone. With the first book out now and three more on the way, I figured this was a good time to touch base with Chang about his publishing effort with co-writer Kane Smith and illustrator Josh Taylor.

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The latest issue of The Asian American Literary Review is out. It’s a major step up in the young life of The AALR in terms of ambition and production. Guest editors Rajini Srikanth and Parag Khandhar, as well as Editors-in-Chief Lawrence-Minh Bui Davis and Gerald Maa, are to be congratulated heartily. The East Coast-based AALR commemorates a decade in Asian America after 9/11. The entire Asian community in New York has seen things change profoundly in obvious ways (racial profiling of South Asian, Arab, Middle Eastern and Muslim Americans; the conversion of Chinatown into a parking garage for the Feds) and in subtle ways (Afghani restaurants took down maps of the country from their dining rooms). It is a full-scale multimedia effort: The print journal collects first-person testimonies and transcribed discussions and interviews, while there are also visual art sections and an illuminating DVD. The pieces range from angry to somber to bitingly satiric. A long-time contributor to Time is eyed carefully after an airport customs official sees a Syria stamp on his passport and thinks the journalist’s chicken-scrawl handwriting is Arabic. A 13-year-old plaintively asks to live in a world “without having the thought of something bad happening to you.” In words, images and performance, we find that when we view the most unforgettable events from dozens of viewpoints, we not only honor the past but also contemplate our future. Pushkar Sharma‘s mindblowing “10 Little Coolies” spoken-word piece from the DVD.   One of five of Tomie Arai‘s works in the print issue.
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