The best new Asian American-themed books for children and teens discuss the tension between our Asian American selves and the world around us in plain, straightforward terms:

Nothing But the Truth (and a few white lies) by Justina Chen Headley (Little, Brown, 2006): In this book, Patty Ho is a hapa teen whose traditional Taiwanese mother makes her life miserable, with foul-smelling tonic soups, strict rules, bitter feelings toward Patty's white father—and her determination to prevent Patty from repeating her mistake of choosing a non-Taiwanese mate. And yet, unfortunately, Patty is not "American enough" for some, facing bigotry in the form of name-calling and being spat upon by a white bully. "Stuck on some infinite teeter-totter: too-white, too-Asian," ultimately Patty comes to see that the "real me, the one I've stashed away, is the sliver where the best of my selves—Asian, white, closet math geek, runner, friend, daughter, girl-in-lust-with-Stu—intersect."

The Year of the Dog by Grace Lin (Little, Brown, 2006): Pacy/Grace is caught between two identities: one "too-Americanized" and the other "too Chinese" (or "too Taiwanese"; as Pacy explains, being Taiwanese is not exactly the same as being Chinese, a subtlety that many non-Taiwanese might never think about). Even her name is a topic of confusion: her American name is Grace and her Chinese name is Pacy, which her sister warns her not to use in public, because "then they'd ask, Why do Chinese people always have to have these weird names?" Because she cannot speak Chinese or Taiwanese, Pacy is a target for more traditional Taiwanese American girls who look at her as if she were "a filthy cockroach" or a "Twinkie"—yellow on the outside but white on the inside. Grace's white American friend, though, thinks she's too Chinese; when Grace announces that she'd like to audition for the part of Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, Becky says, "You can't be Dorothy... Dorothy's not Chinese." In the end, with the support of Melody (a funny, sensitive, and sensible Taiwanese American friend), Pacy/Grace forges new roles as the author-illustrator of a book with "real Chinese people" and as "the best gift-giving Chinese munchkin ever."

Mismatch by Lensey Namioka (Delacorte, 2006): Chinese American Sue Hua and Japanese American Andy Suzuki seem, to their white friends, to be "made for each other," since they both are Asian. "Chinese, Japanese, what's the difference?"; "both eat tons of rice" and "both use chopsticks." Indeed, despite the many cultural differences and historical hatred between the groups (with Sue's grandmother having witnessed the brutality of the Japanese invasion of China), Sue and Andy do seem to have much in common. They gain even more in common when they travel with their school orchestra to Tokyo; there they learn about Asian prejudice in various forms, including against themselves, who are considered by the Japanese not to be "real Americans." åÊSo, where do they fit best? In the orchestra, during a performance, when their true selves emerge, and together, trying to reconcile their inescapable ethnic histories with their own vision of a better future.

The Quail Club by Carolyn Marsden (Candlewick, 2006): In The Gold-Threaded Dress (Candlewick, 2002; paperback reprint, 2006), Marsden introduced Oy/Olivia (Thai and American names), a fourth grader who struggles to keep her Thai identity (not Chinese, as some of the students think) in better shape than the ceremonial dress her classmates carelessly grab and tear. Here, in this sequel, fifth-grader Oy tries to balance her Thai pride with her need to be accepted by the Quail Club and its bossy leader, Liliandra, who demands that Olivia perform at the talent show with her. Oy doesn't mind dancing together, but doesn't want to do an American dance "like on TV" that makes her parents uncomfortable and makes her "feel like a bottle of bubbly soda when the top is unscrewed." Oy and her parents would prefer that she choose one of the Thai dances that she loves to perform. For a while, it looks as if Oy's Thai heritage will be set aside, but Liliandra has a miraculous change-of-outlook that allows Oy to feel that she has become a true "Thai American." While Oy's resolve to be accepted by the unbearable Liliandra is at times maddening, this book offers a realistic look at the sacrifices and accommodations that many Asian American children, particularly immigrants, make--where being questioned about one's culture is the cost of companionship.

If the books mentioned above show things as they are for most of us Asians in America, the next book shows young children how things could be:

Ruby Lu, Empress of Everything by Lenore Look (Atheneum, 2006): The adventures of Ruby Lu—the plucky, bold protagonist of Ruby Lu, Brave and True (Atheneum, 2004)—continue in this book, where Ruby is the around-town tour guide, the at-school "Smile Buddy," and the constant companion of her immigrant cousin Flying Duck. Flying Duck could not be luckier: Ruby adores her, finding her differences fascinating. Ruby is positively proud that Flying Duck eats "one-thousand-year-old eggs for breakfast," can "read backward from right to left," and can "ward off evil spirits" with her jade pendant. Being deaf, Flying Duck also can speak in Chinese Sign Language, which Ruby and her friends are eager to learn. As Ruby marvels, "Flying Duck was an entire foreign country unto herself," further demonstrated when Flying Duck prances to soccer practice in a flowery all-pink outfit, inspiring Ruby to wear asparagus-themed green soccer clothes, complete with stalk-arms and tips on the head. If only the world were filled with people like Ruby, enthusiastic and eager to embrace the unfamiliar. This is the hope: that, one day, it will be.

Posted May 2006