In celebration of Asian American and Pacific Islander Month, we spoke with seven authors of books that highlight AAPI history and experiences for young readers.
Jack Cheng
Who inspired the voice of your central character, Andy Zhou, and the voices of his community?
Andy is basically just me as a kid. I could be quiet in certain situations, but that didn’t mean there weren’t a million ideas and worries going through my head at any given time. And the voices around Andy are largely based on my family and other the Shanghainese families we spent time with.
How does the weight of expectations shape Andy’s perceptions of himself?
Boy, are they heavy expectations! Andy’s so burdened by them that he struggles to articulate, for both himself and others, what he stands for and what he wants. This was true of me too, even well into my 20s and early 30s. I would often try to appease others and avoid any kind of conflict, to the point that I didn’t trust my own inner voice.
And it’s not that those expectations—some of them deeply familial and cultural—have gone away by the end of the book. It’s more that Andy’s arrived at a place where he can choose how he wants to relate to them, and which ones he wants to take seriously.
How did you approach including the specificity of Chinese American culture in Andy’s experience?
Specificity, to me, is what makes fiction come alive. I’m always looking for little details and idiosyncrasies that help make characters or places feel more real or vivid. Many scenes in this book are based on personal experiences, and with those, the challenge was often in what to leave out.
As far as the particularities of Andy’s Chinese American experience, I can’t fathom not getting regional, as both China and the U.S. are so geographically diverse. Andy’s family, like mine, emigrated from Shanghai, and that comes out in their dialogue and the food that his Hao Bu (paternal grandmother) makes. The story is also set in present-day suburban Detroit, which has a distinctly different vibe than coastal cities with larger Chinese populations or rural areas with very few Asian people. So it’s a Chinese American experience, but it’s also a Shanghainese American one, and a Shanghainese Midwestern one.
How do you think having a book like this one would have helped you when you were younger?
It would have made me feel less alone, for sure. I think it would also have helped me feel less ashamed of being an artistic or creative kid—especially as a lot of my Asian American friends were already on track by then to becoming doctors, lawyers, and engineers. There’s an undercurrent in the book about the role of art in holding space for a person to explore their own identities; I think The Many Masks of Andy Zhou would have given me permission to do that exploration, and not feel like I needed to have everything in my 12-year-old life figured out.
The Many Masks of Andy Zhou by Jack Cheng (Dial, June 6 $17.99; ISBN 978-0-525-55382-3)
Malavika Kannan
Who inspired the voice of your central character, Maya Krishnan, and the voices of her community?
I wrote about Maya as a way of processing my own experiences in high school. I went to a high school where the majority of students were students of color, and all of my friends had really diverse backgrounds and families and dreams for themselves. At the same time, my high school wasn’t an easy place for kids of color to thrive. It had a lot of the features of what we would describe as the school to prison pipeline, like overpolicing and excessive discipline for Black and brown kids, which Maya and her friends tackle in the book.
How do the intersections of Maya’s identity as a queer Indian American girl come into play?
As the American daughter of Indian immigrants, Maya has a lot of existential questions about what love looks like. She’s never seen love happily modeled for her, because of her parents’ separation, and as a woman of color, she’s also never really felt desirable or included within scripts for romance. For her, being both queer and a first-generation American are about exploring alternative ways of existing.
Why was it important to meld art and activism into Maya’s story? How are the two interconnected in your own life?
For both me and Maya, art is our most cherished, natural means for processing the world around us. As we’ve grown into ourselves and inherited a lot of problems in the world around us, from gun violence to racism and police brutality, art feels like the best way we can contribute to imagining and creating better worlds.
How do you think having a book like this one would have helped you when you were younger?
I look to literature as a guidebook on how to live. So many pieces of queer storytelling—everything from TV shows to classic texts like The Color Purple—helped me find myself when I was younger, even if they weren’t 100% aligned with my experiences. I’m grateful for what I had but I think we always deserve more stories and more voices, so definitely this book would have expanded my mind even more, and I hope it can feel like a warm hug to younger people who read it now.
All the Yellow Suns by Malavika Kannan. Little, Brown, July 11 $18.99 ISBN 978-0-316-44732-4
Deb JJ Lee
How did you decide to create a memoir? What went into portraying your real-life younger self and your own family?
In Limbo began as a four-page comic about transgenerational language barriers, which at that point was the longest-form comic I’ve ever drawn and was created when I moved from the East Coast to the Bay Area. I’ve never been surrounded by so many Korean gatherings on my own. Typically, I have my Korean-speaking parents with me, who can provide me an “in” to this community, without my having to clumsily introduce myself in a language I can barely speak. At the time, being part of this community was really important to me; for some reason I wanted to know that I belong. These frustrations are what inspired the comic, in the form of a phone call with my grandma. The comic ended up doing quite well on Twitter, and my agent saw the potential of this being a longer-form work. He offered a challenge of starting a graphic novel.
In terms of likeness, I heavily relied on my Facebook photos to recall the clothes I’ve worn, the shape of my glasses, my hairstyle, etc. Social media can be good sometimes! But drawing my face definitely took the longest amount of time—I had to be realistic, since the main character is constantly mulling over how she looks to others, often in a negative light. But I didn’t want to make myself look completely awful!
How did you approach portraying this era in your life in words and pictures?
A little under half of the backgrounds in this book were drawings from photographs I took in my hometown and during trips to Korea—I was lucky, especially towards the end of making the book, to live so close to [my childhood] home that I could take the train to take a bunch of photos from the perspective of where my character is placed in the thumbnails. I would also go for walks around the neighborhood and at my high school and take a bunch of exterior photos as well.
For content, I still have an archive of journals, text conversations, and Tumblr posts from that time, and the dialogue in the most pivotal moments in the book is rewritten verbatim [from that].
How does Deb’s experience “in limbo” speak to the larger conversation of having a foot in two cultures?
To be honest, I think the “in limbo” aspect is less about diaspora and more about figuring out relationships and healing from trauma. In Limbo may be marketed as a book about the Korean immigrant experience that takes place in Seoul and New Jersey, but I don’t think that’s what the memoir is really about—I don’t remember immigrating from Korea, and Seoul doesn’t really happen until the last 30 pages of the book. The meat of the graphic novel is about mental health and codependent relationships, finding acceptance in your own and others’ flaws, and finding healing and solace by going beyond the world you currently live in. It just happens to be that this book is written about a Korean American.
How do you think having a book like this one would have helped you when you were younger?
Not to toot my own horn, but I think this book could have saved me from attempting to end my life those three times. I was so wrapped up in my own world, that I thought what I saw is all that existed. The lessons that I threaded through the graphic novel are those that I wish had known earlier, even when I was struggling during undergrad—especially the one about branching out and finding new pillars to find sturdiness in.
In Limbo by Deb JJ Lee. First Second, Mar. $24.99; ISBN 978-1-250-25265-4
Doan Phuong Nguyen
Who inspired the voice of your central character, Bé, and the voices of her community?
Bé was inspired by my adopted aunt’s early childhood with her birth family. Bé is part my aunt, part me, but also her own character. The voices of the various other characters are based on different Vietnamese family members and friends I’ve met throughout my life. I used their first-hand accounts of life during the war to give voice to a different perspective of the Vietnam War that hasn’t been told before. In the final part of the book, Bé meets a kind woman at the hospital who takes care of her. That character is based on my paternal grandmother.
Why was the Vietnam War setting important to telling the story?
Bé has much turmoil and conflict in her life—from the loss of her mother to losing her voice (becoming a selective mute) and then being sold by her stepmother. I found that the backdrop of war was the perfect setting for her story. During war, nothing is certain. Things seem bleak and hopeless. The situations that Bé experiences in the novel mirror the precarious nature of war. Also, I grew up with family members who were directly affected by the Vietnam War, and the trauma was passed onto me through stories. I wanted to craft a narrative that helped young people understand another perspective that the displacement of war can create.
What kind of research went into the book? How did you meld the realities of history into your novel?
Although Mèo and Bé is fictional, some of the scenes were based on true events that happened to my aunt. In particular, the forehead tattoo scene and the monkey hill scene were pulled straight out of real life. For my research, I did read books and articles about the Vietnam War, but I relied heavily on accounts of my family and friends’ experiences. As a child born in the ’80s, after the end of the war, I grew up with my relatives sharing stories about the war. My dad, in particular, never wanted me to forget why we came to America. It’s been ingrained in my psyche since I was a very young child. Many of the setting details came from my own personal experience. Bé'’ village and her stepmother’s home were based on places in Vietnam that I have personally visited or lived in.
How do you think having a book like this one would have helped you when you were younger?
I would have loved having a novel like this when I was growing up. There weren’t any middle grade or young adult novels with characters who looked like me. The stories I read had mostly white characters. I didn’t see myself in the stories I read, so I desperately wished I was white growing up. I hated being Vietnamese, and I rejected my culture and heritage. The Joy Luck Club was the first novel that I was introduced to with Asian characters, but they were adult characters and not kids like me. I’m so thankful that publishing is becoming more diverse. I hope Vietnamese children are able to find themselves in stories that explore their cultural heritage. I think that would have been so helpful to me growing up. Perhaps I would have learned to love and accept my heritage sooner than I did.
Mèo and Bé by Doan Phuong Nguyen, illus. by Jesse White. Tu Books, May 23 $21.95 ISBN 978-1-64379-625-3
Maia and Alex Shibutani
What was the inspiration behind creating a book highlighting influential Asian American and Pacific Islanders?
We saw a need and wanted to create a book that we wish we had as kids. After learning more about children’s literature following the release of our middle grade book series, Kudo Kids, we realized that there still isn’t enough representation in children’s literature that centers around AAPI stories—especially in the nonfiction category.
When Covid-19 fueled racism, xenophobia, and an unprecedented rise in AAPI hate-related incidents, we were deeply concerned about how young AAPI children would be treated when they returned to school. We decided to create a book that shared the undeniable contributions and positive impact of AAPIs to show the next generation that anything is possible.
Our hope is that Amazing can inspire and uplift the AAPI community while simultaneously combatting misinformed and malicious stereotypes. It has been remarkable to hear and read about people’s early reactions to seeing the word “AMAZING” on the cover of a book surrounded by so many different faces from the AAPI community. Representation is meaningful and powerful.
How did you go about selecting the individuals to feature in the book?
It was such a challenge! As wonderful as the picture book format is, it does present a limitation in terms of page length. We started with a much longer list of incredibly inspiring figures but knew that the entire list couldn’t be included. It was important to us that each figure receive an illustration and bio that was worthy of their story and contributions.
We took care, with our collaborators, to make final selections based on our desire to represent the vastness of the Asian American and Pacific Islander communities. From the beginning of the process, we knew we wanted to recognize people from history, as well as introduce and highlight modern-day change makers who could be inspirational to readers. While we did our best to be as inclusive and representative as possible, 36 figures do not fully embody the AAPI experience. The success of this book can hopefully lead to more—from us and other storytellers.
Was there anything new or surprising that you uncovered?
The entire research process was so illuminating. Part of the joy of this experience has been adding to our own historical knowledge. Before beginning this project, we had not heard of Victoria Manalo Draves and Dr. Sammy Lee. They represented Team USA at the 1948 Olympic Games in London and were the first Asian American woman and man to win Olympic gold medals.
Even though we existed in the sports world for a majority of our lives, it is sadly unsurprising that we hadn’t heard of them before. Their stories have not been widely shared or celebrated. Learning more about them, the challenges they overcame, and the legacies they leave behind reinforced the importance and purpose of our work.
The figures in the book also introduce the spaces and eras they exist(ed) in. We hope Amazing inspires readers of all ages and backgrounds to seek out additional knowledge and information.
How do you think having a book like this one would have helped you when you were younger?
The visibility of AAPIs in media and culture has come a long way since we were children, but having a book like Amazing that showed us the real-world contributions of people who share(d) similarities in their backgrounds would have been so impactful in many ways.
As we pursued our own goals of achieving what no one like us had previously accomplished, it would have been affirming to us, as children, to have had a book like Amazing. Additionally, if others from non-AAPI communities had the opportunity to read a book like this one, we’d like to believe that their perspectives and viewpoints may have been different.
Knowledge and education are powerful in enhancing empathy, understanding, and respect. While there has been some progress, AAPI history is not required curriculum in K–12 education nationwide. At the moment, only four of 50 states have passed legislation. In learning the histories of AAPIs, we can dismantle racism and harmful stereotypes that have existed in society and move towards a brighter, more compassionate future. We hope this book can assist in progressing this initiative.
Amazing: Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders Who Inspire Us All by Maia Shibutani, Alex Shibutani, Dane Liu, illus. by Aaliya Jaleel (Viking, Apr. 18 $18.99; ISBN 978-0-593-52543-2)
K.X. Song
Who inspired the voice of your central characters Kai and Phoenix, and the voices of their community?
No one single person inspired Kai, who is an amalgam of me, individuals I interviewed, and a period of rampant change that brought about a lot of self-doubt and ennui in the world around us. Meanwhile, Phoenix is actually inspired by a single person. This person’s optimism in the face of extreme despair taught me the stubborn resilience of humankind—and our innate ability to keep going despite the odds. As for the voices of the community, what astonished and inspired me here was the fact that although some individuals faced risk in choosing to be interviewed, they still agreed and, in some cases, enthusiastically offered to participate. They wanted their stories told, and moreover, they wanted their stories heard by people outside their city. This bravery in the face of the unknown distinctly inspired the way I wrote An Echo in the City.
Why was the Hong Kong protests setting important to telling this story?
In fact, for this instance, it was the other way around. Sometimes, story comes to me in character. Sometimes it comes to me in a question. This time, it came to me through place. Hong Kong in the summer of 2019 was an electric, scalding place. Through story, I wanted to somehow capture that dynamic energy, and the vibrant, beating pulse of the city. People often say change is hard, or even impossible, but that summer, it felt like change was not only possible, but already in motion all around us. It felt like we could do anything, everything. Of course, that turned out to not be true, and history as we all know favors its victors; but for those who were there, I wanted us to remember, and for those who were not there, I wanted us to learn, or at least, to discover an introduction. Today, the Hong Kong protests remain applicable because they teach us the power of community, and from a young adult perspective, the agency of youth. I wanted to explore those ideas through story: how do we have agency in choosing our own identities? In choosing where we call home? How do we make those choices conscious and intentional?
What kind of research went into depicting the Hong Kong protests? How did you meld the realities of history into your novel?
In a few ways, I regretted An Echo in the City being my debut novel because of how much research it required! My second book after this one, which I can’t talk about just yet, required approximately one-third of the research time this one needed. While I was in Hong Kong, I was able to organically meet people from different walks of life and have lengthy conversations with them regarding how they felt about the protests, their changing ways of life, and the city in general. I recorded none of these conversations, and at this point, didn’t even think I would write the book, though I already had the idea brewing in the back of my head. It was only once I returned to the States for school that I started wondering, what would happen if I actually wrote this book? At that point, I also had to consider the 15-hour time difference, and the changing laws, and the international coverage, which waxed and waned. The short of it is, most of the research conducted was through one-on-one interviews. Independent news sites also proved helpful, as did social media—at the time, people felt a lot freer posting photos and videos of what was happening on the ground.
In terms of melding reality with fiction, this was tricky. In my first draft, nearly all the events took place according to a historically accurate timeline. However, this made for a slow-paced and often tedious draft. My editors at Little, Brown were instrumental in helping me tighten the timeline and become more liberal about reconfiguring the order of events to refine the plot and pacing. Writing historical fiction, I learned you often have to make a choice between story and fact-telling. As a novelist, I intentionally chose the former, while trying not to sacrifice the core of the historical time and place.
How do you think having a book like this one would have helped you when you were younger?
As a first-generation immigrant and someone who grew up traveling between cultures and countries, I often felt a keen sense of guilt in claiming a certain place as “home.” When I was in the west, I felt awkward calling myself American. When I was in the east, I felt guilty calling myself Chinese. With classmates, friends, and family, I knew subconsciously there was something separating me from them—that even though I watched the same TV shows as my American classmates, I was not them, and even though I looked like I belonged in my Chinese family, I was also distinctly not them. At a young age, reading books and watching movies that embraced this intangible otherness left a lasting impression on me, and I find that many of my childhood favorites linked together this theme of liminal spaces. For example, as a child, I loved the Studio Ghibli movie Spirited Away, and the novel Coraline by Neil Gaiman. Both pieces examine the idea of being able to traverse between worlds, and the consequences of such an ability.
It is my hope today that young adults who feel similarly stuck in liminal spaces can read An Echo in the City and resonate with Phoenix and Kai’s struggles, whether it be through the question of where one belongs, or of who one belongs with, or even of belonging itself—and how one can endeavor to make sense of their place and purpose in an ever-changing world.
An Echo in the City by K.X. Song. Little, Brown, June 20 $18.99; ISBN 978-0-316-39682-0
