The Magic Fish by Trung Le Nguye

 

 Reviewed by Ambrea

Tiến loves fairy tales.  For him, reading fairy tales isn’t just a way to pass time, it’s a common language that helps to unite him and his parents, who are both Vietnamese immigrants living in America.  Fairy tales are a lifeline, a way to connect, when he feels like his parents can’t understand him or what he’s experiencing.  For Tiến and his mother, Helen, fairy tales are a bridge to bring together their stories, a road map to help them find their own happily-ever-after.

 

I picked up a copy of The Magic Fish by Trung Le Nguyen at my local used bookstore, because, I’ll admit, I was smitten by the cover.  I loved the imagery of the mermaid and the jewel-bright, vibrant green color of the cover.  More importantly, after flipping through the first few pages, I knew I couldn’t possibly leave without it, because the illustrations were beautiful.

 

I instantly fell in love with Nguyen’s graphic novel:  I loved the characters and the story and the artwork and the color scheme—oh, I adored the colors in The Magic Fish.  I especially enjoyed how the author used color to distinguish between the different parts of the story:  purple/blue panels for fairy tales; yellow for Helen’s stories (the past); and pink/red for Tiến’s stories (the present).  It gave the book a clarity I liked.

I also appreciated how Nguyen used each fairy tales to reflect the individual experiences of the characters.  For instance, when Tiến shares the story of Allerleirauh, the artwork is decidedly more westernized, because he grew up in America; when Helen learns the story of Tấm and Cám and, finally, shares the Little Mermaid, it leans heavily on Vietnamese styles.  It was a lovely detail, I thought.

Although the artwork is a critical element of The Magic Fish, the storytelling helps to make this graphic novel truly wonderful.  I loved how the author weaved together separate stories—Helen’s memories, Tiến’s experiences, their shared fairy tales—into one cohesive book, and I enjoyed seeing how the fairy tales were able to bring Tiến and Helen closer together.

It was so heart-warming and lovely and beautiful—and, honestly, I don’t think I have enough good things to say about this book.

Giant by Mikael

Reviewed by Jeanne

Set in 1930s New York, Giant is an impressive graphic novel about the workers (mostly immigrants) who were constructing the now iconic buildings of the city.  The story centers on “Giant,” a huge Irishman who speaks little but who harbors secrets.  One of them is that he failed to send Ryan Murphy’s death notification to Ryan’s family in Ireland.  Instead, he typed a note as Ryan and sent it along with some money.  Then he receives a reply. . . .

This was a new book which caught my eye when it came in.  I picked it up on a whim and found a much richer, deeper story than I had anticipated.  The action centers on what life was like at that time for a whole class of people.  Most are laborers who work hard and play hard in squalid conditions; they dream of those left behind while they re-invent themselves and sometimes try to leave their past far behind. It’s gritty, moving, sometimes violent, hopeful, and very human.

The art features sepia and olive tones, giving an historical feel while showing the emotional lives of the people. There’s the sweep of the city from the dizzying heights down to the tenements; bits of newspaper give the headlines of the day, while Walter Winchell’s commentary is in the background.  There’s a woman photographer trying to make a name for herself; a writer who can’t write who lets Giant use his typewriter; the new kid trying to learn the ropes; and Mary Murphy, Ryan’s wife who doesn’t yet know she’s a widow, sending news of the family and the Troubles.

Then there’s Giant.  Taciturn to a fault, he gives away nothing of his background. He’s a solitary man who doesn’t talk about his past or speculate on his future. Who is he?

In the brief foreword, it’s explained that part of the genesis of the book was an old photograph of several men sitting on a beam high above the city.  No one knows for sure who took the photo; except for two of the men, no one knows who the names of the rest much less what became of them.  This was the inspiration for the book, to give a life and story to some of those nameless people who created some of the landmarks we take for granted.

I recommend this to anyone who likes a bit of American history as seen through the eyes of the working

Stealing Buddha's Dinner by Bich Minh Nguyen

Reviewed by Kristin

Bich (pronounced “Bit”) Minh Nguyen came to the United States from Saigon in 1975, when she was only eight months old.  Amidst the bombing, thousands of people were running, trying to maneuver their way onto the departing boats.  Bich’s family made it onto one of the last available boats.  Once in the United States, her family was kept in a refugee camp in Arkansas for months until a sponsor was found to help them settle in Grand Rapids, Michigan.

This memoir is all about being separate from the American culture, but also being different and not fitting in with other Vietnamese.  When Bich visited friends’ houses, she discovered just how different her family’s food, customs and manners were.  Bich lived with her father, big sister Anh, grandmother Noi, step-mother Rosa, step-sister Crissy, half-brother Vinh, uncle Chu Cuong and his friend Chu Dai.  Her grandmother cooked traditional Vietnamese dishes such as spring rolls, fried shrimp cakes, pancakes stuffed with meats herbs and bean sprouts, pho, stewed beef and eggs, and shrimp curry.

With all the variety in her diet, Bich still wanted American junk and convenience foods.  Images of racks filled with candy and packaged snack cakes filled her mind, with 80’s music and television shows filling the background.  Van Halen, Sheila E., Michael Jackson, Pat Benetar, Cyndi Lauper were but a few populating her personal soundtrack.  Bich and sister Anh immersed themselves in American pop culture, including Barbies, Days of our Lives, MTV, Charlie’s Angels, Laverne and Shirley, Little Women, Little House on the Prairie, Wonder Woman, Sesame Street and so much more.  Seeing commercials of “Hey Kool-Aid!” and the Pillsbury Dough Boy tied their daily television exposure to the typical American foods that Bich so craved.

Following her Buddhist tradition, Grandmother Noi had a shrine to Buddha and placed the best fruits on it, taking the fruit down days later and cutting it up for the family.  Bich continued to feel the struggles between her family’s religion and the prevailing Midwestern conservative Christian community surrounding Grand Rapids.

While the beginning of the book practically ignores why the family came to the United States without Bich’s mother, eventually this is revealed.  Bich, Anh and their half-brother Vinh had strong maternal figures in step-mother Rosa and grandmother Noi.  Rosa was portrayed as a force of nature, melding together her Latina heritage with her husband’s Vietnamese family.  Bich visited Vietnam with her grandmother and uncle in 1997 and found herself an outsider there as well. This is not necessarily a book of the typical immigrant experience; it is a portrayal of a young person struggling to fit into her adopted community.

I waited until after I had read the book to see what other reviewers said.  I was a bit surprised to see that there were a number of negative reviews, most saying that the narrator was too whiny. I didn't feel that way, and I certainly enjoyed the book.

The author has also written two novels that are reflective of her experience as a Vietnamese-American:  Short Girls and Pioneer Girl.