Race, Robots, and Popular Culture: We Radiant Things by Franny Choi

 We Radiant Things: Notes on Being Alien and Becoming Cyborg by Franny Choi

We Radiant Things book cover

Author and Poet Franny Choi

I recently read David Treuer’s The Savage Mind, which is a fascinating book that asks us to reconsider the ideas of savagery and civilization throughout American history. Treuer referred to literary critic Northrop Frye in a part of the book that resonated with me. Treuer emphasized the differences between a historian and a poet by noting that “history (and historians) tackle what has happened. But poets (and poetry) look at ‘a kind of thing that might happen’…The poet’s job is not to tell you what happened, but what happens: not what did take place, but the kind of thing that always does take place. [She} gives you the typical, recurring, or what Aristotle calls the universal event.” I really liked this distinction, as it is a reminder of not only the importance of artists to complement the historical record, but also how important their perspectives and deep, personal understanding is for interpreting and making meaning to events, whether they are well-known or experienced by individuals. Franny Choi’s excellent new collection of essays We Radiant Things: Notes on Being Alien and Becoming Cyborg made me think again about Treuer’s points about the role of poets in providing more context and a more nuanced look at events, especially as we are continually inundated with various perspectives of different events, media and entertainment. Choi, who is also a poet, provides interesting perspectives on a wide range of topics, frequently critiquing how robots, aliens, cyborgs and other popular figures in sci-fi and horror are often coded as representations of Asian, and particularly Asian females. She examines popular films, shows, and even music to explore these representations, how they have impacted her own identity and how others perceive her, as well as how these representations are not necessarily new, but rather an evolution in the racialized portrayals of Asians that have led to exploitative practices and treatment in labor, employment, education, relationships, and sex. Choi begins the essay with an analysis of Kyoko from 2014’s Ex Machina, examining how Kyoko’s silence and subservient portrayals rely on her racial ambiguity and Japanese name. In an interesting twist, Kyoko ultimately kills the man responsible for her creation, yet Choi explores how Kyoko’s portrayal of a mute, obedient “other” has been shaped by stereotypes and myths about Asian women that have persisted for many years. I’ve only seen Ex Machina once, and I was blown away by the story, but I was more focused on Ava’s role in the story. Choi’s observations and analysis (and apparently a recut of the film with only the scenes of Kyoko) provided a new understanding and perspective, like the kind that Treuer argues poets bring to events. For what it’s worth, Alex Garland, the writer and director of Ex Machina, has worked with Sonoya Mizuno, the actress who plays Kyoko, in a few other projects, notably Devs, where she plays the lead role of Lily Chan, a software engineer trying to uncover the mysterious death of her boyfriend. Regardless, Choi identifies other portrayals of these kinds of racialized portrayals where a future in society is often portrayed as a dystopian Chinatown, like Blade Runner. It’s definitely something I’ve noticed, and with the recent reveal that the coding for The Matrix was taken from a Japanese cookbook, we can see how sci-fi filmmakers have often portrayed the future as an exotic other, like Edward Said’s argument about the West’s portrayal of other cultures, particularly in the Middle East and Asia as distorted and inferior, a portrayal that continues to play out not just in popular culture, but in policies and programs, unfortunately.

I found Choi’s analysis of cyborg films to be particularly interesting, as she brings her own personal interest to films like Ghost in the Machine and Terminator 2: Judgement Day. I loved her writing about T2, which I remember seeing in the theater. Choi recounts how this film became a favorite of her father’s and a family staple, but also notes it’s particular connection to Korean immigrant culture with the film’s themes of “good machines” and “bad machines.” Again, I appreciated the perspective she brings to analyzing this film, exploring scenes where Edward Furlong as an adolescent John Connor is trying to teach Arnold Schwartzenegger’s T800 to speak with some slang and idioms, almost like an immigrant learning to use American phrases and idioms. However, as Choi notes, the appearance of Robert Patrick’s T1000, who can mimic other’s appearances and takes the form of a police officer, provides some insight into the struggles of immigrants and other minorities with cultural assimilation. This was definitely not a reading I took when I saw the film as a teen, but I loved reading about how Choi’s viewings of the film have evolved over the years, and how this idea about good machines and bad machines resonated with her own experiences as a child of immigrants. Nevertheless, Choi grounds her understanding of these machines in the historical accounts of immigrant Chinese workers who helped to build the transcontinental railroad and were largely characterized by their machinelike work ethic and lack of complaining or pushback. Choi also explores how this view was often pushed by those who exploited the precarious nature of these immigrants’ work and later ended up implementing the Chinese exclusion act, also based on the portrayal of Asian countries as “the other”, a dangerous kind of image of the West. This was also resonant as we are currently witnessing a calculated and systemic backlash against immigrants, often relying on tired and reckless stereotypes that not only cast immigrant groups as backwards or uncivilized, but also as threatening to American’s jobs and culture. As Treuer noted in The Savage Mind, it’s the ability of these stereotypes that induce fear of the loss of status and culture among other things that leads to violence, whether it is institutional violence through policies or physical violence that Choi also documents against Asian Americans through the brutal murder of Vincent Chin in 1982 in Detroit.

Where Choi’s writing especially stood out to me was in her chapter “Love, Death, and Pink Robots” that explores how the Flaming Lips came to write one of their most iconic albums Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. Like Choi, this album also has significant memories for me from the summer of 2002 and beyond. I was struck by the beautiful descriptions of the music for both the song “Fight Test” that opens the album and “Do You Realize”, which still nearly brings me to tears every time I hear it. Choi’s music writing includes some of the most aural elements, fitting for a poet: “The track begins with a simple four-chord progression on acoustic guitar, which warps at the end of each phrase. In the back ground, what sounds like a slide guitar (actually a pitch-bending whammy pedal) evokes cowgirls pining in space.” There are some other amazingly-apt descriptions of the sounds that Coyne and Company evoke throughout their iconic album, like “The key changes, and the strange chorus of Wayne Coyne’s sixteen cloned voices rises to fill the space around my heart again.” While Choi contrasts Yoshimi’s role in the song as a Japanese woman who fights the automation, possibly challenging the stereotypes of the female Asian automaton, she also notes how Yoshimi is relegated to parts of the other songs, without having much to do with any theme of this kind of resistance and challenging stereotypes throughout the entirety of the album. Similarly, she notes the smaller image of Yoshimi on the cover of the album, nearly dwarfed by the pink robots. Choi does share her heartbreaking connection with the song “Do You Realize”, one of the saddest and most beautiful songs about the eventuality of death. I won’t give the details here, I loved the way that Choi explores how the meaning of the song and its heartbreak take her back to different eras of her life from 2003 to 2009 to 2025. While she connects the album to her main themes, it’s also one of the enjoyable connections she makes with these forms of popular media that have influenced her interests in robots and Asian American culture.

Another chapter and observation that stood out to me was “Ghost in the Shell (Intensive Care)” where Choi recounts the last days she spent with her mother, who was hospitalized in Italy after an aneurysm burst, kept alive by a respirator and hooked up to machines. As someone who experienced a dying parent in the hospital, attached to machines, I can relate, and Choi explores how these machines that seem so inhuman and artificial can actually keep us alive and help us perform integral functions. Like her reflection on the Flaming Lips’ song, this is another beautifully written but heart wrenching experience that Choi manages to capture all the confusing and intense emotions that she experienced. Yet, she also envisions her mother as Kusanagi from Ghost in the Machine, and how her cybernetic connection enables her to have a new view of consciousness. In another chapter, she explores how she has a similar conflicted relationship with technology, and how she’s harnessed the power of spreadsheets to be “the bionic arms I use to keep up with the work, to run alongside the assembly line, or maybe, to outpace my alienation and disgust.” Choi explores this complicated relationship and how technology has become like a cybernetic extension of ourselves which we rely on to survive (or maybe it’s feeding off of us, harvesting something from us).

I wasn’t sure what to expect from We Radiant Things. I am fascinated by this idea of cyborgs and robots and their portrayal in popular culture, and Franny Choi’s observations and analysis helped to challenge some of those perceptions, especially in how they are often tied to portrayals of Asians, Asian Americans, and especially Asian women. However, she also draws from her own personal experiences, which create a more intimate, funny, sad, and heartfelt rendering of these portrayals and instances. I really enjoyed learning more about how these portrayals have affected her identity, and how she challenges many of these roles by analyzing them. I would also love to take her class “Race, Robots, and Asian American Literature” or “Poetry and Technology”, since some of the work from these essays probably informs her teaching. This is a wonderful collection that will hopefully provide new insights into looking at the implications of how robots, cyborgs and technology are represented on the screen and in popular culture. Many thanks to Ecco Publishers and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of this wonderful book. Highly recommended!  

Forging an Identity Through Literature and Art: Early Deane

 Early Deane: Essays on Irish Literature, Culture, and Politics by Seamus Deane; edited by Maurice Fitzpatrick

Early Deane book cover

Author, poet, and director Seamus Deane

Go raibh maith agat (an Irish Thank You) to Cambridge University Press and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of Early Deane: Essays on Irish Literature, Culture and Politics by Seamus Deane, edited by Maurice Fitzpatrick. This was an exciting collection to find and read. I was lucky enough to take a few Irish Literature classes in college and actually read Deane’s book Reading in the Dark. For whatever reason, I don’t remember reading any of his criticism. Nevertheless, this collection of his writings from the 1960s through the early 1980s is well organized thematically, focusing on topics and issues like Irish intellectuals and politics, Irish imagination, Irish drama, and important, but sometimes overlooked Irish writers who helped to forge the idea of an Irish nationality and identity. Although I was not familiar with all of the writers that Deane discusses throughout the book, I was familiar with a number of the authors, poets, plays, and novels, and many of the themes and ideas about Irish identity, politics, art, creativity, and the struggle against colonialism were themes and issues explored in the courses I took. This book is definitely an academic text, and not one for casual readers. Deane was not only a poet and writer, but a serious student of Irish history and literature, using his knowledge and learning, as well as his spirit and desire for a true Irish identity, to synthesize the great history of Irish art and literature, often to refute notions and stereotypes that sought to justify the colonization of Ireland.

Deane’s writing is informative and imaginative, as he looks backward to imagine a future Ireland that is not necessarily nostalgic, but rather awakening to understand the true legacy of its language and history that was nearly erased through colonization. Furthermore, Deane was from Northern Ireland, so his experience under British rule and the kind of discrimination and inequality he experienced only heightened his calls for a true Irish identity and nation. In fact, the idea of tension and conflict, not just violence, but a kind of dichotomy and opposition, are found throughout his essays, offering insight into what he sometimes refers to as the psychology of the Irish under British rule, where their history, language, and culture were systematically erased only to have English and British history imposed on them. As Deane notes throughout analyses of Irish writers like Yeats, Synge, Beckett, and O’Casey, that kind of experience creates a divided psyche and identity that is never completely assured of who it is, and may be best represented in the character of Owen in Translations, who needs a job, but ultimately ends up aiding in the destruction of his own culture, history, language, and community through his work with the British. Deane became close with Friel, becoming a director in his Field Day Theater Company in Derry, along with the actor Stephen Rea, who also wrote a wonderful introduction for this collection. The last few essays are actually introductions by Deane about Friel’s work, which plays an important part in helping to provide examples of both the conflicts and the artistry that Deane emphasizes are so integral to understanding the Irish. I also appreciated Deane’s writing about Yeats and other contemporaries like Lady Gregory who sought to excavate Irish mythology and folklore, not necessarily to romanticize the past, but rather to reinvigorate an Irish identity and imagine a new future for Ireland as it forged a new nation after the revolution. Deane’s analysis and evaluation of these important Irish artists and writers also acknowledged his call to the necessity of art, myth, and literature in shaping a unique national identity free from the cultural imperialism that colonialism imposes on its subjects. Also important throughout the early part of this collection is Deane’s call for an Irish intelligentsia, which he deems as what I would imagine Du Bois imagined as like the talented tenth, a group of highly educated and skilled writers, artists, and theorists who guide the culture towards a brighter future. As Deane notes, Irish offered little for its artists, writers, and thinkers to remain while England and continental Europe provided more opportunities and praise. Nevertheless, Deane may not have realized how he and his peers were able to contribute to this kind of Irish intelligentsia that helped to re-imagine Ireland through art, poetry, drama, and literature.    

Although this is a book about much more than Irish literature, it was a little surprising to not see a whole lot about James Joyce in this book. Many of the conflicts, oppositions and themes that Joyce addressed in his works, especially the paralysis and spiritual death that Ireland offered, appear throughout Deane’s criticism, noting how prevalent these ideas were in other writers’ works. Furthermore, Deane’s focus on the imposed history and the loss of authentic Irish history seems to echo Stephen Deadalus’s famous lines “History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.” However, with Deane’s writing, we see glimmers of hope and a sliver of morning sunlight slipping through the shades, offering readers and thinkers ideas about how Ireland was seeking its own identity throughout the periods of colonialism (and in some ways, it still is). Deane’s commitment to art and literature as a means of upliftment and cultural identity are important reminders as well. As I was reading this collection, I was struck by its relevance to current issues in the US but also reassured by the power of great art to challenge injustice, inequality, and violence. This is a great collection for those who are interested in Irish literature or for those who are teaching courses on Irish literature. I wish that I had a collection like this when I was in college because it would have provided me with some different insights into the Irish imagination and its role in forging an Irish identity. Highly recommended! 

 Flyboy in the Buttermilk: Essays on Contemporary America by Greg Tate

Flyboy in the Buttermilk cover

Author and Critic Greg Tate

Big props to Farrar, Straus, and Giroux and NetGalley for allowing me to preview an advanced copy of Greg Tate’s powerful collection of essays from the 80s and 90s Flyboy in the Buttermilk: Essays on Contemporary America. I’ve heard of Greg Tate, but I can’t believe I’ve never read anything by him up until now. Reading the three introductions by Questlove, Henry Louis Gates Jr, and Hanif Abdurraqib provided some great context for understanding not only Greg Tate’s interests and subjects for his writing, but also his vast influence on music, popular culture, and writing in general. While the introductions are awesome, they don’t entirely capture the breadth of Tate’s interests captured by the essays in this book. Whether it’s funk, pop music, hip hop, reggae, art, literature, sci-fi, or movies, Tate’s writing clearly and enthusiastically shows his passion for these arts and more importantly, his emphasis on promoting artists uplifts many Black voices that were often silenced or relegated to the underground at the expense of more mainstream pop acts and artists. Tate’s collection is the kind of book that requires some notetaking to follow up on the many different references, albums, songs, and titles he champions, and I’m so appreciative for it.

One of my favorite elements of this book is Tate’s unique voice in his writing. I absolutely loved his writing, especially about music. The only music writers/critics I could liken him to are Lester Bangs and Greil Marcus, who are both passionate and emphatic champions and critics of music they like and dislike; however, Tate also has his own unique register, adding elements of funk and hip-hop to his writing that emphasize his own distinct voice in criticism. I noticed that this approach changes somewhat when he writes about literature and politics in the latter sections of the book. However, the first section that focuses primarily on his writings about music is so much fun to read; I can only imagine Tate reading these essays out loud. Furthermore, I was amazed to read phrases and lingo Tate uses in his early 80s essays that are still in use today. I think this speaks to not only Tate’s influence, but also his close ear and understanding of culture.

Although this book was originally published in 1992, it’s still completely relevant today. In fact, I was surprised to see how much Tate’s writing about African American literature and history was relevant to my undergraduate studies, which again made me wonder why Tate wasn’t included in any of the anthologies or required reading lists from my professors. Whether it’s discussing the battles between Black leadership in the early 1900s in the quest for either assimilation or equality or the burdens of Black writers and artists to represent culture or to capitalize on the larger market for white audiences, Tate’s writing remains relevant and trenchant, focusing on important considerations for Black culture, artists, writers, and America in general. I double checked my Norton Anthology of African American Literature edited by Gates Jr. just to see if Tate was included in my 1997 edition, but he was not. I hope that Gates Jr. has eventually included Tate in either subsequent editions or other anthologies since I feel like Tate’s approach to many of the canonical texts and arguments from African American literature and history is such a unique, relevant, and engaging voice that challenges readers to question and rethink their understandings of these texts, figures, and events.

The book is divided into three sections. Part One focuses on music criticism, Part Two focuses mostly on literary and art criticism, and Part Three focuses on current events and politics, mostly from the late 1980s and early 1990s in New York. My favorite section was the music criticism section, which was also the longest section in the book. This section is where we see not just the breadth of Tate’s interests (Funk, Jazz, Blues, Rock, Hip-Hop, House), but also the depths of these interests that Tate is willing to pursue to further untangle and share with his audience. I loved how much he writes about Miles Davis, especially reevaluating the electric and later stages of Miles’ career, looking at Miles’ role as not just a Black artist, but an American force of culture who reshaped art and popular music by pursuing his own passions and interests. Tate also explores areas in Jazz that fragmented in the 1960s and 70s, examining the kind of schisms that created paths for standard bearers like the Marsalis family and the paths that diverged to other space ways and areas carved out by avant-garde and free jazz artists. It’s an issue about Black art that re-appears throughout Tate’s book in different forms including fine art vs. graffiti, R & B vs. Pop Music (Prince and Michael Jackson), and literature (Amiri Baraka). Tate seems to update DuBois’s notion of the veil but situates it in the context of American popular culture and the cultural marketplace of the latter 20^th century, where an artist’s existence is sometimes dependent on an audience. One of Tate’s targets is Michael Jackson, whose most popular albums Thriller and Bad, Tate criticizes for their emptiness and pursuit of mass audiences at the expense of the kind of soulfulness or artistic integrity that are apparent in other Black contemporary artists of Michael’s time. My favorite pieces, though, were focused on Public Enemy, whose music from the late 80s and 90s is such an integral part of my life. Tate’s writing about Public Enemy is so accurate and fun, and he captures the energy and power of the band’s sound and vision and how it helped to shape and redirect the hip-hop scene into something more conceptual rather than commercial.

Although Section Three deals with events from NYC in the late 80s and early 90s, I was surprised to see how relevant Tate’s analyses and criticisms are for today. Furthermore, since I was younger and not living in the NYC area at the time, I wasn’t as familiar with the murders of Michael Griffith in Howard Beach or Yusef Hawkins in Bensonhurst, except from the references from PE. Tate critically examines these incidents and contextualizes them along with the Central Park Five injustice to criticize the press, the police, and leadership at all levels for allowing racial violence and intolerance to continue to fester in the city. Even though Tate’s book was originally published nearly 35 years ago, his critiques and observations are still relevant and on point. While I have many annotations throughout the book, the last essay “Love and the Enemy” has a particular quote at its end that surprised me with its relevance and prescience. The essay is powerful in its message of love for and in the African American community, in which Tate calls out white supremacy for fomenting hate among African Americans. He cites both Malcolm X and Bob Marley as calling for love for self rather than the love and desire for the oppressor. For Tate, these power structures enable people to ignore systemic inequalities because they are more concerned individual status. “When reactive rage is the dominant form of our politics, when it takes police or mob violence to galvanize us into reaction, it means that there is an acceptable level of suffering and misery.” I’m not saying this is still true, but I think it’s a powerful quote that should move all people to recognize that the fight and struggle continues today as politics and culture remain reactive rather than accepting or accommodating. This is an incredible and important collection of essays, and I’m so glad that it is being republished. I can only hope that Greg Tate’s voice reaches more eyes and ears as a result of this new edition, and people can learn to appreciate the critical eye and humor in his work. Even though the essays are between 35-45 years old, they are still relevant, prescient, observant, critical, and engaging. Highly recommended! 

Essential Essay Collection for 2025: Three or More is a Riot: Notes on How We Got Here 2012-2025

Three or More is a Riot: Notes on How We Got Here 2012-2025 by Jelani Cobb

Three or More is a Riot book cover

Author, Dean, and Scholar Jelani Cobb

Big thanks to Random House, One World, and NetGalley for sending me an advanced copy of Jelani Cobb’s essential and relevant collection of his writing Three or More is a Riot: Notes on How We Got Here 2012-2025. Cobb, who is not only a skilled and astute writer whose pieces critically examine politics, culture, entertainment, and history, is also the current dean of Columbia’s Graduate School of Journalism. I was really impressed with how deep and critical he gets with many of the subjects in these pieces, and yet how he is able to make them so accessible and relevant, and so moving and impactful. I found myself challenged with maintaining my composure while recounting the articles that detail some of the most horrific crimes in American history. The essays that recount the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church shooting were emotional and powerful, but not just because of the utter brutality and violence of the act; it’s Cobb’s focus on the victims and their lives that gives the piece it’s emotional punch. It’s been some time since I’ve read about this crime, and yet it’s hard to believe that it happened over 10 years ago. Cobb’s pieces often provide us with this perspective, understanding the impact on those whose narratives are often overshadowed by perpetrators or whose voices have been highjacked by louder, more presumptuous and privileged personalities. Furthermore, his pieces all help to understand that while these events happened in the past, we continue to see these clouds on the horizon, recognizing that “Storms don’t stand still so it’s important to understand what direction they’re headed in.” He presents this storm metaphor in the epilogue, but I think it’s important to reinforce this idea from the beginning, especially since these essays are so informative and educational. I felt like I learned so much from this collection, and even though I lived through and can remember many of the events Cobb analyzes in his writing, I gained new perspectives and understandings from these essays. I feel like so many of these pieces would function well in the classroom since Cobb provides readers with perspectives that are often overlooked, forgotten or beaten down, and it’s this fresh look at recent events (and some older instances of history) that help us better understand our present situation.

The book is organized into 3 sections that ostensibly grapple with the complexities of the first Black president (The Parameters of Hope), the first white president (Winter in America), and some of the unprecedented events that have occurred since (History Lessens- focused on COVID, 1/6/21, Impeachment, George Floyd, Hip Hop at 50, and the recent presidential election). I felt a kinship with Cobb in his use of Gil Scott Heron’s classic album Winter in America. I found myself listening to this album in 2016 and 2017, pulled by Scott Heron’s mournful, yet also hopeful songs, written in the aftermath of Watergate. I found the songs both critical and uplifting at time when things seemed so off kilter. It was interesting to also see Scott Heron’s music also have relevance in 2025 with One Battle After Another, another piece of media that critically examines the times we are in. Nevertheless, Cobb’s use of this title and his reflection on its meaning in 2016 and beyond were completely relevant. Although the book details critical instances in recent history like Michael Brown’s death and the loss of other prominent Black luminaries and leaders like Ruby Dee, Gwen Ifill, Elijah Cummings, and John Lewis, there were many other essays where I learned so much from Cobb’s reporting and analysis. For example, in “Hard Tests,” Cobb examines the complexities of Black leaders in HBCUs in the time of Trump, whose leadership has to walk a fine line between challenging the implicit racism of statements like DeVos’s school choice line to ensuring the future viability of HBCUs’ funding through government support. Cobb mentioned Ellison’s Invisible Man and the DeBois-Washington debate about the Atlanta Compromise, and I could understand the kind of complex ambiguity that writers like Ellison and Wright evoked in their work through characters like Trueblood and Bigger Thomas. The essay about Stacy Abrams was also revealing in how much we need more efforts to resist voter suppression and in general how important it can be to maintain state control of governorships and legislatures. We are witnessing vast efforts to minimize or outright erase gains from the voting initiatives of the past 60 years. I also loved the two essays about hip-hop- “D-Nice’s Club Quarantine is What You Need” and “Hip-Hop at Fifty: An Elegy.” I definitely agree with Cobb’s assessment of “My Name is D-Nice” as a gem, although I wouldn’t call it semi-obscure. I had no idea about this effort during the pandemic; I was probably too wrapped up in discovering some older shows or just trying to navigate having my kids home during the pandemic, but I think that these two essays offer some of the alternating themes of hope and community and forgetting and death in others. The “Hip-Hop at Fifty” brings up important issues about how hip-hop, often viewed as a young person’s game, has struggled with aging. I remember being shocked about the deaths of Guru, who died at 48 from complications related to cancer, and Professor X from X-Clan, who also passed away at 49 from spinal meningitis. I just remember thinking about how these illnesses were not always fatal, and I wondered how these elder statemen of hip-hop took care of their health. Cobb touches on some other more recent deaths, especially Phife Dawg, whose death in 2016 months before the release of their last album (We Got if From Here…Thank You 4 Your Service) and also right before the election was both shocking and preventable. It was also interesting to read this after listening to the latest Public Enemy album Black Sky Over the Projects: Apartment 2025 where Chuck D, still hitting hard as hell, reminds listeners that he’s currently a senior citizen. I couldn’t believe Chuck D is eligible for AARP, but if anything, his hard lyrics are a reminder of the indomitable nature of his spirit as much as Cobb’s essay is a reminder of not only the violence and threats to Black men, but also the social determinants of health that often create these disparities in health care and life spans. These essays challenged my thinking, and although they resonated with many of my beliefs and ideas, they also opened me up to new avenues of thought and perspectives that are too often overlooked, dismissed, or pushed aside. Cobb’s writing is clear and accessible, but also incredibly moving, even when he’s dropping science and teaching. Furthermore, even though these essays span the last 12 years, it is so important to revisit the memories of Trayvon Martin, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Tamir Rice, Freddie Gray, and George Floyd, as well as the victims of the Emanuel AME Church, the Tree of Life Synagogue, as well as the victims of the Christchurch killings in New Zealand, especially since we continue to witness the continued dehumanization and attempts to denigrate other people of color, minorities, and immigrants, and we see that this current violence is state sanctioned. Voices and perspectives like Cobb help to remind us about the cost of silence in these periods, as well as remind us of the communities and hope that can arise after these storms wreak havoc. I also forgot to mention one of the more powerful and important essays “The Man Behind Critical Race Theory” from September 2021. I loved reading about Derrick Bell, whose concern about the implications of desegregation and his fight for equality was complicated by a long history of violent opposition to equality and inequities in political and systemic power, was fascinating to learn more about. It was also essential reading since Bell’s ideas and concerns have been highjacked by the right whose willful misrepresentations and shameful ignorance about critical race theory have ultimately lumped it into something that it is not. If anything, Cobb’s essay helps to elucidate the complications of inequality, representation, power, and access that Bell was wrestling with, and presents a fuller, more complete picture than is often provided. Toni Morrison once wrote in Beloved that “Definitions belong to the definers, not the defined,” and sadly bad actors like Christopher Rufo have plunged the public into willful ignorance about this important topic by rebranding Bell’s ideas as toxic. However, Cobb’s essay paints a more realistic and complete picture not just of the ideas, but also of Bell’s interesting life and continued fight against the system. It was one of the many stand-out essays that I loved reading in this collection and will probably revisit again. Highly recommended and important reading!

 

Candid, Bold Collection of Essays about Horror, Trauma, and Identity: Uncanny Valley Girls by Zefyr Lisowski

 Uncanny Valley Girls: Essays on Horror, Survival, and Love by Zefyr Lisowski

Uncanny Valley Girls book cover

Author and horror enthusiast Zefyr Lisowski

Many thanks to Harper Perennial and NetGalley for the advanced copy of Zefyr Lisowski’s collection of essays Uncanny Valley Girls: Essays on Horror, Survival, and Love. The title of this collection instantly intrigued me—I loved the play on Uncanny Valley and that the book is about horror and survival. As Lisowski mentions in her postlude, “horror is a love language, but maybe that’s because for me everything is a love language. Horror at its most intimate is a way to share the secret parts of yourself with others: what frightens you, what comforts you, what you’re repulsed by.” Lisowski’s collection is more of a personal reaction to horror- not only her own experiences sharing horror viewing with others, but also how these films related to events in her life. This collection is a deeply personal and at times traumatic exploration and reflection on what events shaped Lisowski’s life and identity, with horror films factoring into these events. Although these essays do not follow in the traditional film analysis, Lisowski does provide some context for the creation of some of these films and how films from the early 2000s reflected much of the violence that was happening around the world. In the second section of the book, the essay “War on Terror” focuses on the era of films like Final Destination and Hostel, and how Lisowski’s relationship with a boy unfolded and deteriorated through their shared interest in horror. One of the many themes that runs throughout these essays are how women in these films are both objectified- represented as vectors of violence that reflect the kinds of misogyny and hatred towards difference in society- and seen as survivors- the final girl trope whose smarts and morality are often rewarded with survival. While this aspect of horror films is something that many people can relate to, it seems like Lisowski’s experience as a trans woman whose identity was frequently questioned and challenged by peers and parents made her especially sensitive and receptive to these messages from horror films. While her friend enjoyed the violence, Lisowski relates more to the final girls in these films—those whose identities are sometimes questioned or challenged by the more popular and dominant cultures, yet ultimately are able to use this to their advantage to survive. It’s possibly one of the reasons Sally Hardesty of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre appealed to her more than other characters and also possibly why the remakes and sequels in this franchise were less appealing.

I appreciated Lisowski’s candor and bravery in many of these essays, baring her emotions and vulnerability. She does include a list of triggering subjects in each essay at the end of the book. I recommend using this to at least be aware of the subjects that she discusses in each of the essays since they can be fraught with topics like self-harm and sexual assault. While I noted Lisowski’s disclaimer at the beginning of the book, I don’t think it quire prepared me for how much brutality and self-hatred she experienced as a trans woman. However, I think that through reading about her experience and seeing how horror movies provided her with a kind of insight into the brutality of society and the strength of survivors, it helped me learn a little more about a frequently misunderstood group that receives a lot of undue scorn and violence. Other essays focus on Lisowski’s personal connections to films like The Ring and Dark Water, Black Swan, and Scream. I found the essay about Ginger Snaps “Preliminary Materials for a Theory of the Werewolf Girl” really interesting, especially since I recently read another essay about how werewolves provided Jennifer McMahon with more insight about her own sexuality and differences in the amazing collection of essays Why I Love Horror (edited by Becky Siegel Spratford). I hadn’t previously thought about this connection between werewolves and queerness, but it is interesting to consider about how changes, especially in puberty, can often make us feel so different and out of control. As Lisowski explains, these changes are often unwelcome and more often misunderstood by others who feel threatened and in danger. Yet, it’s ultimately the werewolves who suffer the most through their transformation and death. The other essay that I really enjoyed was “Uncanny Valley of the Dolls” which examines the life and work of Greer Lankton, a trailblazing artist who made dolls. I recently read Harron Walker’s great collection Aggregated Discontent, which is where I first learned about Greer Lankton. Lisowski’s essay is different, focusing more on her life than Walker’s essay, which focused on her transition to a female. Lisowski’s essay also focused on her work with dolls, described their likenesses to Lankton’s own struggles and challenges, including her eating disorders and drug addiction. Throughout the essay, Lisowski identifies with these struggles with mental health as a connection to Lankton’s life and work. I found this essay to be a great addition to Walker’s essay—although both writers focus on Lankton’s life and work, I felt like I learned even more about Lankton’s later life and her struggles and challenges and how these aspects of her life impacted her work.

Although some readers who are looking for more traditional essays analyzing horror films may feel a little bereft from this essay collection, there are plenty of personal horrors and trauma that Lisowski plumbs to better understand our often complicated relationship with violence and abjection we watch on the screen. This is a brave and bold collection where Lisowski fearlessly shares her experience and struggles with mental health, and uses horror as a way to both reflect and escape, to better understand her own trauma and to see pathways to survival. It’s not quite what I expected, but at the same time I feel like I learned a lot about different perspectives. However, I recommend checking out the trigger warnings at the end of the book as there are parts of the book that were challenging for even this horror fan to read. Nevertheless, this was a powerful collection of essays that I will revisit at some point.

 

Powerful and Relevant Essay Collection: Decolonizing Language and Other Revolutionary Ideas by Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o

 Decolonizing Language and Other Revolutionary Ideas by Ngugi wa Thiong'o

Decolonizing Language and Other Revolutionary Ideas cover

Author, scholar, activist Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o

Many thanks to The New Press and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Decolonizing Language and Other Revolutionary Ideas, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o’s last book before he passed. Although I was saddened to learn about the passing of Kenya’s most prominent thinkers, writers, and advocates, I was excited to find this collection of writings and essays available for review. I greatly appreciate The New Press allowing me to review the book in exchange for my honest opinion. I first encountered Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o’s work in my undergraduate studies, reading A Grain of Wheat in an amazing World Literature course. A Grain of Wheat stood out as one of the most powerful and transformative books that I read. At the time, I hadn’t been completely familiar with Kenya’s fight for independence, but Ngũgĩ’s characters brought this struggle and its challenges to light in a meaningful and poetic way. Furthermore, my professor, Dr. Awuyah, made the readings so compelling and engaging, and A Grain of Wheat remains one of the most memorable from that course even years later.

I was also attracted to the title of this book as it focused on decolonization and language, two ideas that are incredibly appealing and interesting to me. The first part of the book, Decolonizing Language, focuses on that subject, providing examples and ideas of the power of the language and how colonization, and in particular language rules and imperialism seek to eradicate culture, beliefs and indigenous knowledge. Ngũgĩ provides examples throughout history of how countries sought to dominate and control through imposing a dominant language while limiting indigenous languages. It’s an important idea that is often neglected or forgotten, especially as more and more languages die every year. I was both surprised and excited to find that he used the example of Ireland as one of the first colonial linguistic experiments in Europe, and yet, he acknowledged that great Irish writers like Yeats and Joyce are often included in English literature Canons despite the attempted eradication of Gaelic, their native language. The idea of language and power is also represented in both writers’ work, as it is in other Irish authors like Brian Friel, whose play Translations, dealt with the kinds of issues Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o brings up about language, memory, culture, and the power of naming. While there are many important ideas and themes that emerged from Ngũgĩ’s essays, I found two to be highly important. First, “Language conquest, unlike the military form, wherein the victor must subdue the whole population directly, is cheaper and more effective: the conqueror only has to invest in capturing the minds of the elite, who will then spread submission to the rest of the population.” While Ngũgĩ is referring to nation and culture, I think this idea is relevant and applicable to our current situation in the US, and in many ways further represents the kind of cultural and generational shifts that are occurring through different means of communication as we shift into accessing more information through social media and other digital formats. In many ways, it feels like there is a kind of linguistic battle occurring where forces are arguing about the nature of facts, representation, accessibility, and knowledge. I appreciated Ngũgĩ’s call to continually keep language and culture alive through reading, writing, and orality. The other idea that seemed highly important was pulled form historical examples in British colonies, especially in India, where English became “the language of education in order to form a class of ‘interpreters between us and the millions whom we govern, a class of persons Indian in blood and color, but English in tastes, in opinions, in morals and intellect.’” While Ngũgĩ’s examples represent the colonial use of education to create an educated class that still remained separate from the ruling class, with some privileges, yet never completely integrated, it’s also reminiscent of much of the ideological battles that are occurring now in education, and how the dominant culture currently in power is seeking to reshape American’s access to education with spurious claims of ideological capture and indoctrination. It almost seems like there is an invention of pseudoscientific terms to create fearmongering in order to shift ideologies. We see how language and education are used in these kinds of ways to dominate and eliminate ideas that are deemed threatening or counter the ruling class. Nevertheless, Ngũgĩ notes that “The colony of the mind prevents meaningful, nationally empowering innovations in education,” which seems to be the goal. Rather than innovate and encourage free and critical thinking, we are moving more towards this kind of colonial mentality where recitation and memorization are more important than independent thought and ideas. Actually, Ngũgĩ differentiates between education, which he notes as more like conditioning and knowledge, which he defines as an addictive element to an individual.

Another great essay in the book focused on the role of the University in a Global Community, and again, I felt like there was so much to take away and apply from this essay. It’s also interesting to see the university from Ngũgĩ’s perspective, as someone who helped shape disciplinary studies in African and American universities, calling for the shift away from “English” departments to “Literature” departments that sought to be more inclusive and diverse. As he notes “the university has a great role to play. Just as the university hosts different disciplines, which, while pursuing their particularity, should be in dialogue with one another, the university should be the modern patron of an intellectual discourse among languages and cultures. No university should be proud of monoculturalism or monolingualism. Building bridges between even apparently irreconcilable viewpoints is an important function of the university.” I loved this quote and this entire essay that focuses on the ways in which universities provided additive knowledge to students in order to further enhance their perspectives and viewpoints. Although Ngũgĩ’s experience, fighting for the inclusion of African, Asian, and other writers not often represented in the canon, is different, his words are a reminder of how powerful the role of the university remains in American life, and the ways that current policies are intending to shift towards this kind of monoculturalism and, as Chimanda Ngozi Adichie warns, the dangers of a single story. If anything, Ngũgĩ’s words and essay are an important reminder of how powerful and transformative the university can be both on an individual and a societal level.

The second half of the book, from chapters 7 through 20, focus on “Voices of Prophecy,” and discuss many of Ngũgĩ’s contemporaries and colleagues. I’m not sure whether the chapter on Achebe was meant to be funny, but Ngũgĩ discusses how after Things Fall Apart, every African writer became Achebe, where even he and his son were both mistaken for Achebe. It’s a funny story, but also somewhat troubling in that a scholar of African literature didn’t even know what Achebe’s age or appearance were like. Other essays detail his relationship to other well-known African writers, and their struggles writing in English or switching to their native languages. Ngũgĩ’s experiences as a political prisoner in Kenya are also a reminder of how powerful and subversive literature can be, and how the artist can also be a source of resistance and rebellion against politically powerful individuals. There is a lot to consider in these chapters as well, and I enjoyed learning more about Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o’s career and collaborations with other writers, especially as he sought to diversify Literary studies and make them more inclusive.

This was an excellent collection, one that I will revisit and would consider using for the classroom. There are many great essays in here, and I as someone who studied African literature in college, I found these texts particularly relevant and meaningful. Furthermore, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o’s experience challenging the colonial mindset—seeking to decolonize not just nations, but also mentalities, is an important reminder about the role of language and knowledge in this kind of colonizer mindset. I was surprised and excited at how relevant and powerful these essays are in the current landscape. Highly recommended! 

Making the College Essay Fun and Engaging: The Uncommon College Essay by Stacey Brook

 The Uncommon College Essay: An Approachable Guide to an Intimidating Process by Stacey Brook

The Uncommon College Essay book cover

Author and plant mom Stacey Brook

Many thanks to Bloomsbury Academic and NetGalley for allowing me to read an advanced copy of Stacey Brooke’s insightful The Uncommon College Essay: An Approachable Guide to an Intimidating Process. Brook, who runs an college essay advisory company (College Essay Advisors-CEA), has assembled a fun and useful book that prepares students to write one of the most consequential pieces of their academic careers- the college essay (or personal statement). Brook makes this task fun and uses encouragement to engage readers to think and question themselves in order to write and convey to admissions officers what makes them stand out among a broad array of candidates for college. This book comes out just in time as many students are either beginning their process of researching and assembling their college materials or finalizing their submission materials to prepare for their next step in their learning journeys.

I really appreciated Brook’s approach and her conversational style throughout the book. While the book provides helpful activities and exercises to engage in during the writing process, the book is not a task to read; furthermore, as an experienced writer and teacher who has supported students in writing their college essays, Brook provides many different ways to approach the tasks in the writing process. Ultimately, she identifies the stages of pre-writing/brainstorming, freewriting, organizing/drafting, and then revising. However, what makes her book stand out are the varieties of activities and approaches she has for each step. As if to silence the kinds of resistance and challenges that students might present, Brook provides many different ways to approach these tasks and to do so in a fun and personal way that makes the process of writing more about self-discovery and celebration than the slog or pressure filled task that it could seem like to many high school students. Brook’s frequent asides and parenthetical comments kept me laughing and appreciating her humorous approach to writing. Furthermore, they help to highlight how fun and personable this kind of writing can (and should) be. She regularly revisits interesting and unique facts about her life (ability to eat a whole pizza, plant mom) as an example of the kinds of unique aspects of one’s identity or experiences that might be further analyzed to explain more about their qualities. It was also interesting that she used these kinds of working examples from her own writing rather than student samples. She explains that the student samples can sometimes become like a template or map for students, who might end up copying the example, but failing to make the essay unique or personal. She does provide some student examples (with commentary) on introductions and conclusions which I found helpful and interesting. Nevertheless, I can appreciate this approach since sometimes students might approach the task as a writing assignment rather than a personal narrative or statement.

Brook’s book is a great guide for students, but it can also be a useful resource for teachers and parents. I know that when my kids are ready for any kind of personal narrative or personal statement type assignments, I’ll be able to reference some of the activities and approaches as well as utilize Brook’s motivational tools for overcoming writer’s block, procrastination, and the kind of general anxiety that might impact high stakes writing. Many of these suggestions are just best practices for writing, so it was helpful to revisit these since they can serve as some additional tips to present to students. I also wish that this was a book that was available when I was teaching high school English to many aspiring first generation college students. Brook’s tips and suggestions, as well as different exercises and activities to examine personal experiences were really helpful in exploring one’s personal identity and what makes them unique. I could see myself proposing choices for several different activities for some students who struggled with identifying those key experiences, qualities, or events that helped to define them, and further refining them to extract and communicate that meaning to admissions officers.

Stacey Brook’s The Uncommon College Essay is a great addition to the resources that are available for students, parents, and teachers in supporting their students to write their most impactful college essay or personal statement. Brook’s experience and knowledge with the tasks and requirements across different colleges helps prepare students to not only approach individual requirements, but to also then take their experiences and writing and revise or repeat the process for another institution that might have a different question or prompt. What I found most helpful was her humorous and conversational style in discussing this process as well as her tips for managing the varied constraints and stress that comes along with this process. Highly recommended! 

Exploring Horror Literature in Why I Love Horror

 Why I Love Horror: Essays on Horror Literature edited by Becky Siegel Spratford

Why I Love Horror book cover

Author, editor, librarian and reader advisor Becky Siegel Spratford

Big thanks to Saga Press and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of Beck Siegel Spratford’s amazing collection of horror writers’ essays on their love of horror appropriately titled Why I Love Horror: Essays on Horror Literature. This book was amazing! I loved hearing from so many incredible writers whose work I admire, have wanted to read, or just discovered because of this incredible anthology. First, this book is a must read for any horror fan—whether you are a horror literature fan or even a horror movie fan. Many of the entries from the authors provide background and motivation for why we are attracted to dark, forbidding stories that challenge and frighten us. I was nodding my head in agreement while reading many of the essays, finding commonality among the different perspectives that all pointed to outsider status, anxiety and fear, social ills, dysfunction, and especially in finding horror through early experiences with scary stories, comics, television shows, and films. While I try to find something that I can relate to in every book I read, I don’t know if I’ve ever encountered a book where I felt like I was saying “That’s me!” after every page.

Becky Siegel Spratford, the editor of this anthology, has done an incredible job of assembling an all-star cast of horror writers, but more importantly, she’s expertly arranged the essays into a compelling order that progresses from early encounters with monsters to real life terrors and horrors to acknowledging how horror can help us through horrible times. Siegel Spratford is a librarian by training who eventually started working with the Readers’ Advisory, a program that suggests books to readers. Maybe it’s something we take for granted when we go to the library, but I’ve always thought it was cool to see what the librarians were reading and recommending for readers. I usually don’t have a problem finding books I want to read, but it is a great service for my kids. Interestingly, Siegel Spratford recognized the importance of asking why—not just recounting what the book was about, but rather what made the book so enjoyable and readable. She gives a great example of how this question functioned for Stephen Graham Jones’s The Only Good Indians, probably my favorite book by him (although The Buffalo Hunter Hunter is a close second). She explains that exploring the why led her to create the Readers’ Advisory Guide to Horror, and her interest in horror led to asking writers to share entries for an October blog on “Why Horror?” She provided these authors with a simple prompt and word length, and then includes a great introduction and recommendations for these authors’ books—for which I am so grateful.

The book is easily read, and it’s one that I will definitely want to revisit. I also see some of these essays as being great teaching tools in asking students to think deeply about their own personal interests or “Why” questions. It’s an assignment I’ve taught before, trying to craft my own examples—why running? Why horror movies? Why metal? – as well as using student samples. However, I loved the variety and creativity in these essays. Grady Hendrix’s “Why I Love Horror” was so strange and unsettling about a discovery in his father’s freezer—I’m not sure how true it is, but that was the whole point of why horror. This sounds like something that could happen. Did it? That’s what makes horror so unsettling. I also loved Clay McLeod Chapman’s “Why I Am Horror” in which he recounts the varied examples from his younger days of why he drifted into horror, and how some experiences with horror challenged his perspective and understanding of the truth. I think that the earlier essays about monsters probably appealed to me the most. I was that kid who loved books about cryptids and creatures and watched shows like In Search Of… and Ripley’s Believe It Or Not. I had these Time Life books about all aspects of the unknown and mysterious events and creatures. It was funny that John Langan brought up spontaneous human combustion, because I remember being terrified of that phenomenon when I was younger after reading about it in one of these Time Life books. I think I even saw the pictures he referenced in his essay. I was just always drawn to both being scared but also intrigued by these mysterious circumstances. Also, monster movies were definitely a big part of my young life, something that I watched with my dad when I was really young, and continued to stay up late on Saturday nights after Saturday Night Live to watch Saturday Night Dead. Like a lot of the writers, these movies led to other worlds of horror including comics and Stephen King, Clive Barker, and Peter Straub. I’m also not sure if it was partly a generational aspect of growing up in the 80s, but I had a used book/comic store up the street from my house where I spent a lot of time and money discovering weird tales and Poe and Lovecraft comic adaptations. There were also 2 video stores nearby, and both had pretty good horror selections. Cynthia Pelayo, whose amazing book Loteria I recently read (and loved), talked about how the video store provided her with an early entry to horror, in which she ended up exploring the entire selection. Similarly, Clay McLeod Chapman talks about how “Each sleeve had its own horror story to tell.” I remember one summer trying to rent all of the banned films with a friend—Make Them Die Slowly, I Spit on Your Grave, Faces of Death…. Just trying to really push boundaries. However, there were all kinds of great covers and boxes that called out to perspective viewers to dare themselves to be scared for a few hours. I could totally relate to this, and it’s something that I feel like younger generations really missed out on. Even as an adult, I miss that time where I could just spend a summer day binging on different horror movies.

One of the more powerful essays was more like a story by David Demchuk. I was blown away by the story he recounts hearing from his uncle. It’s a powerful kind of allegory, but also illustrates the didactic power of horror and how its visceral nature allows us to feel a broad range of emotions. Similarly Stephen Graham Jones who ends the anthology, presents some humorous yet compelling reasons why he chose horror, noting how it might be the oldest of the genres. I also loved how many of the authors noted how important horror is for society—to serve as like a barometer and a kind of critique of society, where it can help us to recognize not only the horrors that are happening, but also what might come if we don’t make changes. Alma Katsu, who worked in intelligence tracking genocide and atrocities around the world acknowledges the power of horror and darkness to teach us important lessons. Other authors also offered the necessity of horror as a way to help us acknowledge and appreciate the light and good in the world. There were so many great ways to consider horror and what we can learn from it in this collection. I loved reading other pieces by authors whose books I’ve read within the last year or so—Gabino Iglesias, Tananarive Due, Alma Katsu, Clay McLeod Chapman, Victor LaValle, Nuzo Onoh, Grady Hendrix, Cynthia Pelayo, and Stephen Graham Jones, as well as encountering some writers on my TBR list (John Langan, Rachel Harrison, Mary SanGiovanni, David Demchuk). This was such a great collection! I also couldn’t imagine the contributions that some writers who either couldn’t contribute or had their work cut might have added. Siegel Spratford mentions a few in the “Acknowledgements”. I hope maybe she can create another edition later to include some of these writers. Nevertheless, this was such a fun, entertaining, and enlightening read. I loved reading about all of these authors’ experiences with horror- what influenced their movement to the dark side and what has kept them there. Highly recommended!

Examining Racism, Stereotypes, and the Damage of Sexual Objectification in Fetishized: A Reckoning With Yellow Fever, Feminism, and Beauty by Kaila Yu

 Fetishized: A Reckoning With Yellow Fever, Feminism, and Beauty by Kaila Yu

Fetishized book cover

Author Kaila Yu

Many thanks to Crown Publishing and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Kaila Yu’s bold and compelling memoir/essay collection that confronts racism, objectification, and representation titled Fetishized: A Reckoning With Yellow Fever, Feminism, and Beauty. I didn’t know who Kaila Yu was before reading this book, but it was interesting to read about her career transformation from an import and pin-up model to musician and lead singer for the band Nylon Pink to eventually a writer who is able to reflect and distil how social stereotypes like the model minority myth and the dragon lady shaped her own motivations and career choices with a critical eye. Although reading about the social issues Yu critically examines in this book is challenging, she presents them in a kind of autobiographical manner, connecting her own experiences to the larger issues and supporting her observations and conclusions with research and statistics to further bolster her points. This approach that bridges both memoir and critical essays makes the entry into discussing serious social problems and issues easier to approach as a reader. Furthermore, Yu’s style and descriptions are rooted in a kind of humor and relevance that also lessens the tension, but still makes readers appreciate and sympathize with the gravity and weight of these issues. I’ve read a few of these kinds of these books that could be both memoir and essay based, and I really appreciate them for teaching since they can make great texts to help students not only develop critical insights into social situations, but also to help them see how as a writer their own experiences can be an entry point for interrogation of issues and events in society. Yu’s book reminded me of Alice Bolin’s recent essay collection Culture Creep in that both writers begin with their own experiences as a framework for examining how women are represented and portrayed in popular culture, and what kind of influence women in popular culture like singers, actresses, reality television personalities and social media influencers have on shaping young women’s own ideas about themselves, their careers, and expectations for relationships. Furthermore, Yu’s examination of Asian stereotypes, representation, and treatment in society also reminded me Cathy Park Hong’s Minor Feelings, Jane Wong’s Meet Me Tonight in Atlantic City, and Viet Thanh Nguyen’s A Man of Two Faces, books by Asian American writers and scholars who explore their experiences growing up, as well as the kind of art, literature, and film/television representations that shaped their own ideas and approaches to art and writing. Chapters in Yu’s book would pair well with other chapters from any of these memoirs to provide students with a multifaceted perspective of race and identity, and in particular how popular media and literature can shape ideas about racism and stereotypes.

Yu’s book is also interesting in that her experiences take the narrative further to show how these stereotypes and representation shaped her own behavior and choices. She frequently mentioned that her decision to become a pinup and import car model was an attempt to challenge the model minority myth, the belief that “Asians are quiet, intelligent, high achieving, and hardworking… to it Asians against other minorities”, which was interesting to consider. Yu further examines that Asian women are often left to fit into 2 categories—the model minority or the hypersexualized Asian woman, like a dragon lady, whose stereotype she traces to colonialism, imperialism, and war. The second essay, “Geisha”, examines the myth of the hypersexualized Asian woman with the book and film Memoirs of a Geisha, which was published in the late 90s, and turned into a film in the early 2000s. Yu examines how Arthur Golden, the American male writer, perpetuated stereotypes about Asian women and sexuality with this book, and how audiences failed to note many of the disturbing elements of the story, but rather recognized the kind of abuse and violence in the book as a love story. Yu examines how her own experiences with older men, and in particular in how a specific girlfriend would pressure Yu into pursuing hooking up with older men. She also notes that “The book affirmed that pursuing glamor was not just worthwhile, it was required…”, which is also a recurring theme throughout Yu’s book. The idea that Asian women needed to fit into these stereotypes and act and look certain ways to make them worthy to the male gaze nudged Yu into pursuing a career in modeling and altering her look to fit into these stereotypes. I appreciated her candidness in examining these ideas and seeing how her own desire for attention from men was shaped by these earlier representations. Yu also critiqued The Joy Luck Club, noting that it was one of the first novels about Asian American experience to be taught in schools, but also that was made into a popular film. Unlike Memoirs of a Geisha, The Joy Luck Club was written by an Asian American woman (Amy Tan), yet Yu also noted some of the inconsistencies and problems with the way the mothers in the film are portrayed, and how their lives as immigrants are greatly simplified, probably to appeal more to white audiences. The film and the representation of Asian immigrant women allowed Yu to examine her own mother’s experiences to challenge the ways that these women were represented in the film.

One of the most important, but also upsetting chapters in the book (“Bad Asian”) detail Yu’s sexual assault during a modeling audition, and help to highlight the ways that pornography often appeals to racial stereotypes and exploits power inequalities. Yu was just starting her modeling career, and applied to various auditions, not really thinking about the potential for assault and exploitation. This essay, and some of the others in the book, examine the ways that pornography particularly fetishizes Asian women and feeds into stereotypes while also dehumanizing them, reducing their individuality. Yu also explores how the history of colonialism, imperialism, and war have furthered these representations of Asian women. What was even more disturbing was the comments from male fans that were often sexually violent, but also tied into the kinds of violent pornography that often exploit Asian women.

The later part of the book explores Yu’s pivot from modeling into music, first as a solo act, then as part of the group Nylon Pink. I enjoyed reading these chapters, even though I was not familiar with Nylon Pink, which was one of the first all Asian female bands. It was cool to learn about how she connected with bassist Katt Lee to make music, and how the band eventually came together to include other Asian female musicians. One thing that resonated with me about the band was how Yu explains the issues of representation for Asian females in music. Although hopefully that kind of representation might be changing with women like Karen O, Michelle Zauner, Mitski, the music scene was different in the early and mid-2000s. Yu explained that to gain traction and be taken more seriously, the band needed to lean into more of the Asian female stereotypes, while noting that other white artists simply could be themselves. Yu also noted that Black female singers often didn’t have this kind of issue either, where singers like Eryka Badu could develop their own unique personas and not have to play into stereotypes. I found it interesting too that Yu critiqued Gwen Stefani’s appropriation of Japanese culture with the Harajuku Girls, a kind of backup dancer troupe that remained silent and were kind of like props, furthering stereotypes about Asian women. Despite developing the band and gaining some traction, Yu explores how the members often were fetishized, and how Yu herself pushed some bandmembers into these fetishized stereotypes to further the band’s popularity. This was also one of the most revealing elements of the book, how Yu acknowledges her own pursuit of these kinds of stereotypes and fetishization as a means to benefit and further her career, but also how it eventually brought her anxiety and anguish. It also seemed to have brought about the end of the band, noting how she was no longer into performing with the group. There’s a lot more to the story of the band, and I recommend this for anyone who’s interesting in books about the music industry and bands, as Yu and her bandmates experiences with fetishization and racism add a sad but important twist to these kinds of behind the music stories.

One of the last chapters of the book, “A Reckoning”, also stood out as a kind of turning point for Yu, where she discusses the Georgia spa shooting that occurred in 2021, where eight people, six of whom where Asian women, were murdered by a white man who appeared to have a fetish for Asian women and seemed to blame them for his own personal problems. Yu situates this event in the pandemic, where violence against Asian Americans, especially Asian women, became more commonplace, but also notes other instances of violence by white men against Asian women that predated the pandemic, emphasizing that this violence is more common than the media would report. It also relates to the idea of fetishization and how it dehumanizes Asian women, reducing them to parts and objects rather than recognizing their individuality and their humanity. It also seemed to be a turning point for Yu’s writing, as she began to write more about fetishization and the violence that was often paired with it.  It is a powerful ending to a compelling book that interrogates representation for Asian women, as well as examining how history, colonialism, war, and imperialism have all contributed to the fetishization of Asian women. As Yu notes, it’s challenging to determine the differences between fetishes and preferences that men may have, but she rightly acknowledges the complications and violence that often results from fetishization, not only how it has impacted her own life and career, and how it has impacted others close to her, but also how it impacts other Asian American women. There is so much to review with this book, I feel like I’m not completely covering everything that Yu addresses. However, Fetishized is the kind of book that is necessary to revisit and think about the different topics and issues she explores. Yu’s book is an important and compelling read, and I could see any of these chapters working well in a first-year writing class to explore important issues of race, identity, culture, identity, and sexuality, as well as how important representation is for students. Many of the chapters would pair well with other recent books that are both memoirs and examine social issues. Highly recommended!