"Asian American Literature: A Brief Introduction and
Anthology," edited by Shawn Wong, is an impressive
achievement. The book gathers a range of pieces in many genres by more
than 30 authors. The authors represented are a diverse group. There is
a good balance of male and female writers. The authors represent both
United States-born individuals and immigrants. One author, Frank Chin,
is a fifth-generation Chinese American. Other authors trace their
roots to Japan, India, China, Korea, Vietnam, the Philippines,
Indonesia, Malaysia, or Laos. Some represent biracial
backgrounds. Several generations of writers, from Sui Sin Far
(1867-1914) to Monique Thuy-Dung Truong (b. 1968) are
represented.

Several genres of literature are also represented. The
selections in the anthology are grouped into four sections: nonfiction
prose, fiction, poetry, and drama. Each author's contribution is
preceded by an interesting individual introduction which contains
useful bibliographic data; this material is further supplemented by a
bibliography at the end of the book. Editor Wong also includes a
fascinating preface to the whole book. This supplemental material is
full of interesting information, such as the story of Wong's
rediscovery of pioneering Japanese American writer Toshio Mori.

There
are many highlights to this fine anthology: Amy Tan's essay
"Mother Tongue," in which she reflects on "the
different Englishes" she uses; Bienvenido Santos' "Quicker
with Arrows," a story of interracial love during World War II;
Bharati Mukherjee's "The Management of Grief," a story about
the aftermath of an apparent terrorist bombing; Lawson Fusao Inada's
"Legends from Camp," a cycle of poems about the internment
of Japanese Americans in U.S. concentration camps during World War II;
Watako Yamauchi's "The Music Lessons," a play about the
struggles of a Japanese American family during the Depression of the
1930s; and much more.

I did find a small number of typographical
errors or apparent factual mistakes throughout the book; for example,
at one point Frank Chin's novel "Donald Duk" seems to be
mistakenly referred to as "Donald Pink" (I know of no novel
by the latter name). And the concluding bibliography, while useful, is
confusingly presented. But these problems aside, I found "Asian
American Literature" to be an enriching anthology. This is one of
those wonderful books that is excellent both for classroom use and for
individual reading. I believe that this book will move you emotionally
and impress you artistically while at the same time educating you
about Asian American culture.

A weird, dreamlikle book, almost impossible to describe - makes Gravity's Rainbow look like Biggles, in terms of complexity and non-linearity. It basically deals with the exploits of PaPa LaBas, voodoo detective, and his attempts to find and destroy Louisiana Red - an insidious force that causes anger and pain. But really, as far as literary descriptions go, this is about as comprehensive as "Finnegan's Wake is about this guy who's having a dream." The book's more like a kaleidoscope of American (specifically black) culture, leaving nothing out.

The quality of the writing can't be denied, and it's so full of brilliant images and ideas that it'll leave your head buzzing.

This important anthology makes available a range of Native American writings from the early nineteenth century to the present. Genres covered include fiction, poetry, auotobiography, and drama, making this text a fine choice for introduction to literature classes as well as for courses focused specifically on Native American literature. Luther Standing Bear's autobiographical account of his time at the Carlisle school for Indians is a particularly interesting selection for its historical perspective on the push for "Indians" to assimilate via white modes of education. Vizenor's introduction provides a useful historical framework as well. Some of the selections are relatively well-known in the field of Native American literary studies, while others (including Vizenor's own drama) do not appear in other anthologies I've seen. Overall, this anthology represents a fine if somewhat idiosyncratic representation of the broad diversity of Native American literary voices.

Reading and reviewing books gives me the opportunity to venture into areas of learning I might never have the chance to be a part of. I am always grateful when I can open up a book that from the cover might not look what I would want to read and after finishing the book I am glad I took the time to read.

The Reed Reader is a book that requires an open mind in order to understand what the author is trying to convey through the pages. Read uses biting satire and an intelligent wording to bring out points about what he in the culture and the American way of life.

Reed's ability to go beyond the surface in the issue makes the reading enlightening as well as thought provoking. Reed is certainly one to take chances in his writing and the reader will benefit from the "wisdom" of his words.

Overall the book is well written and easy to follow. I will say that not everyone is going to understand the message of the book and that may be the one shortcoming. However if you are open to new ideas you may want to spend a few hours with Ishmael Reed.

It seems this book is quite the rage for modern American literature classes in universities today. I actually read it for American Literature to 1865 (it was assigned in tandem with Uncle Tom's Cabin), and it is currently on the reading list for the modern course. And I really can't understand why. The previous reviewer wrote that Mr. Reed was "doubly overlooked because he's a truly literate African-American writer AND more so because he's a postmodernist." I would disagree. He's overlooked (I hadn't heard of him before my English class) because, quite simply, he cannot write. Was this supposed to be humorous? I don't think I cracked a smile. Moreover--and here the other reviewer was close--his postmodernism just doesn't fly, because contrary to their opinions, there IS objective truth, as recent events have clearly demonstrated. Mr. Reed is fond of blurring the lines, quite explicitly, between fact and fiction. If all that's the case, who's to say the neo-Marxism of which Mr. Reed seems to be so fond is not merely fiction? Not an enjoyable read at all, especially not VERY poorly written scenes dealing with sexuality. This is certainly not a book I would have read unless assigned (and writing the paper for it was most assuredly like pulling teeth), and I don't feel it has a place on university reading lists, for it is representative of neither American literature nor of good writing. We need to go back to the basics when authors questioned the order of things without denying Truth itself.

this work is one of the most brilliant books i have ever read. I have read kafka, dostoyevsky, hesse and dick among others. This book is playfully original and comical at the same time. Ishmael
Reed has taught me more about the civil war that anyone else has.
the blurring of fact and fiction was not confusing at all. The characters were alive and believable. I thought his depiction of the period was right on in a comical way. this is a book all african americans who appreciate literature should read. what a writer. I love raven quickskill!!![.]

Ah poor Ishmael Reed! Doubly overlooked because he's a truly literate African-American writer AND more so because he's a postmodernist.

This outrageously wonderful book manages to dissect and skewer both America's past and present with an off-beat sense of purpose. Merely my second foray into Reed's body of work, he's rapidly climbing up my All Time Favourite Author list. I suppose this won't appeal to everyone in the John Grishman/E. Lyn Harris/Harry Potter set, but Flight to Canada does what great art should - challenge the beholder.

Reed tackles everything from the Civil War, Lincoln, Harriet Beecher Stowe, the grand ol' south, the nature of slavery and slaves and demands the reader to push aside common held beliefs and take a fresh look at this much-studied (and much-rehashed) juncture of American History.

Bottom line - a hip and funny read that'll make you think. What more d'ya need?

The blurb on the cover of my copy of Japanese By Spring reads "Just the sort of weapon we need in the war against academic pedantry," and I totally agree. Ishmael Reed creates the perfect caricature of a liberal arts college and its faculty, students, and administration. Jack London College is a typical liberal arts college with all common sense, interpersonal decorum, and cold weather removed. It's a liberal arts college on speed. The faculty portrayed in JBS behave as if they've had all their personal, emotional, and extracurricular dimensions surgically removed, and operate only as mouthpieces for the curriculum they teach and the intellectual/political ideas they espouse. Reed sets them up as raging, one-dimensional adversaries with whom Chappie does battle. It almost reminded me of any of the numerous popular teenage films where the protagonist is an inept pariah, picked on by all manner of his/her high school peers, and then, at the movie's midpoint, s/he obtains some device-a superpower, a fashion makeover, or in this case, a Japanese takeover-which allows him/her to exact revenge on his/her tormentors. As banal as such films often are, we enjoy them because we like seeing the good guy get his. In Japanese By Spring, we sympathize with Chappie (as ridiculous as he is) when he is harassed by his peers, and we enjoy the inevitable payoff, when he gets to fire them. Normally, I'd be disappointed with one-dimensional characters, but they are means to a greater end for Reed.

And I loved the intrusive author bit. I haven't read anything else by Reed, so I don't know if he does this in other books of his. But the first time his name appeared in the text of the story itself, I did a double take-which is probably exactly what Reed wants the reader to do. As far as confounding readers' expectations and conventional narratological rules, this device is effective and entertaining. Most readers will probably spend the first several chapters of the novel thinking that Chappie Puttbutt is Reed's alter-ego, his voice within the story. But then, Reed himself appears, and before long, he's having a conversation with Chappie. Now what to think? Readers might find themselves wondering what the point is of having a fictional alter-ego in the story at all, if Reed can just walk right in. I'm not sure the answer is an easy one, but one guess is that Chappie represents all the aspects of Reed that he (Reed) would be embarrassed to acknowledge, sides that most people probably don't see. The laughable sycophant, waffling on all the issues; his pretentious, single-minded pursuit of tenure and a house in the Oakland Hills. I didn't mind Reed appearing occasionally throughout the novel, but I'm a little annoyed that he completely takes over by its end. Where is Chappie during the Olódùmarè ceremony which ends the book? The book's ending is still valid, and a tranquil conclusion to a long and winding discussion about Rodney King, etc. But for its supposed protagonist to be completely effaced is unsettling.

I get the feeling that telling a story (my quick, crude, and conventional definition of "story" being an unfolding narrative which develops characters and themes) is not Reed's first priority. In Japanese By Spring, plot development (and resolution), character depth, and continuity of all kinds (thematic, stylistic, you name it) take a backseat-a way-backseat-to the spontaneous, scattered, and often confusing exposition of Reed's views on just about everything. For the first 150 pages or so, he manages to couch his diatribes fairly successfully within the context of the story; that is, Puttbutt and his fellow characters provide voice(s) for Reed's strong and varied stances on various social and political subjects, as well as for those of Reed's opponents. At no point does Reed really pretend that his characters exist for any purpose other than as mouthpieces for his views and, more commonly, for those of his opponents. Entire conversations-if they can be called conversations-are contrived just so Reed can air his opinions. One example is an argument, late in the novel, between Chappie and his father. It's partially about the Gulf War, and as such, functions as one of the many platforms upon which Reed can discuss Middle-Eastern affairs and Operation Desert Storm, which was still fresh in America's mind when the novel was written. Trouble is, this encounter between Chappie and his father happens amidst a sort of clattering trainwreck in the narrative, where the actual fate of Jack London College is left unresolved. I have no problem with lack of resolution in story. But lack of resolution in plot, narrative, and the structure of a novel itself is troubling for me.

Reed is known for improvising as he writes. This is quite evident when one considers the structure of Japanese By Spring. The structure here is, well, hardly present. Again, I have no problem with spontaneous or improvised prose. But here, it almost seems to thwart the story. It's so tangential it's clumsy. What seem like critical developments are mentioned offhand, in one sentence, or even half a sentence. "Oh, and by the way, Chappie's mother was kidnapped by Arabs." "Oh, and by the way, Chappie's mentor beheaded his wife and killed himself." Developments like these will come out of nowhere and then fade as quickly as they arrived. Meanwhile, the main plot is left hanging, and with a lot of slack.

Reed's writing is rich with satire, and as I've already said, he spends the first half of the book creating hilarious caricatures of academic buffoons. He should have taken the material from the novel's first half, fleshed it out, and created a more thorough story about the events at Jack London College; a truly singular and even more powerful "weapon against academic pedantry." Then, he could take the second half of the novel and use it as the basis for a series of non-fiction essays on Japan-U.S. relations, WWII theory, the Gulf War, the L.A. riots, race relations, Western-vs.-Eastern thinking, etc. I'd be equally enthusiastic to read both. But in Japanese By Spring, they've been conflated in a clumsy and often confusing manner.

In Japanese By Spring, Reed loses much of the force of his earlier works, such as Mumbo Jumbo and The Free-lance Pallbearers. A professor named Chappie Puttbutt fails to receive tenure at the racist Jack London College. The school is then taken over by the Japanese, who put Puttbutt's Japanese teacher in charge. Puttbutt becomes his adviser, and begins to seek revenge for not making tenure. The story becomes somewhat amusing, but the satire is nowhere near as strong as in Reed's earlier work. Reed also inserts himself into the novel as a minor character, but then moralizes for many pages atthe end of the book, leaving it without a good conclusion. Reed is an excellent writer, but stay away from Japansese By Spring unless you intend to compare it to his other work.

This book was much more than I had bargained for. I have a PC friend who had asked me to read it, and I thought it was going to be more PC affirmative-action driven drivel, and to some extent this was true. But it was hell-bent, crazy, hilarious, and it struck out in every direction at once, and was spot-on insightful concerning the Maoist Cultural Revolution in academia over the last twenty years. Reed is on the side of the Revolution, but he understands to some extent the mess it has made. He also appears to have studied Japanese and Yoruba, which is more than I can say for almost any other monoglot multicultural I have come across. He can order postage stamps and ask for directions in Japanese, as his main character could do, at least. This is way more of a second language than almost any "multiculturalist" (which generally just means anti-white male) actually possesses.

The sheer brilliant mayhem of this novel, as Puttbutt is put through his paces, is spectacular. At some points I thought I was reading Shakespeare. The book is never mundane, and always does more than you could have ever thought of by yourself. Reed is obviously a genius.

At other points, I lost track of the narrative. I couldn't figure out who was speaking. Sometimes, too, he would start a sentence talking about one figure, and then the next sentence would start with a "he" but it would be a different person he was talking about. In such a deeply important and major writer, this kind of obvious flaw should have been edited out.

But the weird comic paranoia of this book is the first I've come across to really touch the comic paranoia of academia in which everybody is worried about the slightest shift of wind, and what it means. This book caught that. He also has some of the most inventive racist slang I've ever read. This book is like Celine in reverse. I enjoyed it thoroughly, and read it straight through. It had sat on my shelf for three years after the PC guy had given it to me. Then, I read it, and I can say that Reed is the best new writer I've come across in five years or more. Very playful, and beautiful book, especially when he gets off his high horse (he sometimes rants in his own voice but not for very long) and does the Puttbutt.

I wish everybody caught up in the sick tensions and paranoia of academia would read this book. This is a very important novel, and will be on my syllabus for the next five years. Big fun here, and lots to talk about. What a brave and ingenious book! My real fundamental problem in the book is that he isn't critical enough about the Yoruba culture. This is the only culture that isn't ripped into the way he rips into white and Japanese culture. I myself don't know anything about Yoruba culture, but wonder if it is better than the American. Are women entitled to political representation? Is there freedom of speech? Where do they stand on the misery index regarding health, nutrition, sanitation, education for women, children, and the poor, decency towards minorities, etc? Reed, like most multiculturalists, seems to argue that all societies are the same in value but that the one he happens to come from is the best among equals. But this is only true if you completely get rid of any standards such as a misery index.

Multiculturalism means no standards of any kind except personal whimor self-aggrandizement. This is the final problem underlying Reed's hilarious, inventive, and sorely needed book. We need standards that we can agree upon, but any kind of standard is immediately torn to shreds by raging political fanaticism. At least in Reed's book, this becomes funny.

The title of this book describes it perfectly. For me Mumbo Jumbo was a difficult read. I did enjoy it however. It is not like any other book I have ever read. I like to read new things and to experience different styles of reading and writing. The story itself was interesting. Many important issues in our history are addressed. This book reflects the Harlem Renaissance, the Jazz Age by tracing the rebirth of African American culture. Many of the passages are an accurate portrayal of what Western culture is all about for instance the concerns with religions, guns, and advertising. The novel as a whole can be seen as a critique of American/Western culture. This novel has a mystical aspect to it. It talks about all of these weird dances such as the Turkey Trot, the Grizzly Bear, and the Bunny Hug. Maybe they equate to our Chicken Dance and Bunny Hop, who knows? The Atonists saw these dances as ugly and out of fashion. The Atonists were anti Jes Grew. I still cannot decide if I would be anti Jes Grew or not. The thought of a plague always gets people down and worried. Jes Grew however is an anti-plague. It causes one to be lively and to actually have more energy. It would be good to feel energized when "sick" but this novel shows the consequences of this anti-plague. The novel takes us to different American states by following the anti-plague. The novel does get a bit confusing. Trying to read it out loud was difficult due to the lack of punctuation, but the extra challenge made it more interesting. We all need a bit of change in our everyday reading. This novel is definitely one to read if you want to experience something new

I've read this novel three times and think it will become a twentieth-century classic, and one of the most enjoyable ones at that. Mumbo Jumbo suggests an explanation for why white culture and black culture in the US are so different (white culture into death and repression, black into earthiness and good living), mythically rooted in a split between the races at the time of the Osiris myth in Egypt. All this with great humor!

If you need a one sentence statement of its story, the novel is about how the white establishment tries to stamp out an epidemic of "jes grew," which is the need to dance, to express one's soul, embodied in jazz spreading from New Orleans to other cities, even (horrors!) to white youth. The novel uses postmodernist techniques (e.g. anomalies, pastiche, document quotation) and moves back and forth from its why whites can't dance and were alarmed at the "jungle music" of jazz and by the sensuality of the jitterbug, Black Muslim values (Reed doesn't like them), New Orleans voo doo,the Knights Templar, the Harlem Renaissance, and first world theft of other cultures' artifacts.

This book is getting a bad rap from editorial reviews on this page--all seemingly from the same college English class who were apparently required to write reviews whether they had anything to say or made an earnest attempt at reading. (Thanks for the sharing your tantrums with us, Teach.)

It's great. There's a story there, but it doesn't read like Aesop or Mother Goose. There are themes and messages aplenty, but not if you focus on your frustration with the look and feel of the book. As other reviews have indicated, there is a collage effect here. The juxtaposition of historical and fictional characters and situations is a tongue-in-cheek way of understanding how the dead white men of yore responded to the presence of an African cultural presence in the US despite myriad safeguards against it.

In Reed's nothing-short-of-brilliant book, the Wallflower Order (guess which of the two previously described groups they are) get all bent out of shape because there's this "mumbo jumbo" "voodoo" dancing breaking out even in society's most prudish circles. Where did it come from? It "Jes Grew". And so it becomes--an epidemic!

Anyone who has ever considered the question of "soul" will enjoy this book. Anyone who enjoys detective novels would really like this book as that is the basic style--but if you're coming straight from Agatha Christie, maybe do some decompression someplace before you dive in, 'cause it won't be as rigidly predetermined.

If you go to an airport bookshop and see plenty formulaic bestsellers you'd rather read, stick with your conscience and do that. If you're ready to read a book that invites you to take part in the construction of the plot, this book is for you. If you want to have a good time as an *active* reader of a somewhat living text (consider, for example, how different printings of this book change), and if you can recognize a few simple conventions to give you guidance when the next page doesn't drag you by the hand to the next paragraph, get this book.

Despite all the "postmodern" and "deconstruction" accolades for this book, one need not know what those words mean in order to thoroughly enjoy this book. The plot develops in a linear way, but rather than "this happened, then this happened," you get "this happened. This is happening. [a picture of something happening.] a headline: SOMETHING HAPPENED." There is still a chronological series of events, but you have to connect the dots as you go along--a skill apparently not best honed whenever the students who reviewed this book get around to their reading assignments.

Characters are likewise reliable as in other books one might read. It's like trying anything new, though: the style of this book will require of you that you have enough confidence and perseverance as a reader to see what is there--if you'd rather gripe about how you'd prefer not to be actively involved in the reading, get Bush's catarpillar book instead.

If 1992 was the Year of the Woman & 1994 was the year of the Angry White Male, then this book was certainly an attempt by Ishmael Reed to make 1993 the year of the Angry Black Male. What's he angry about? mostly the commonly accepted portrait of black males in the media and among intellectual elites, & especially the black conservatives who help foster what he feels is an inaccurate image. They are "airing dirty laundry" or as he puts it: "The profitable literary scam nowadays is to pose as someone who airs unpleasant and frank facts about the black community, only to be condemned by the black community for doing so. This is the sure way to grants, awards, prizes, fellowships, and academic positions."

But these black conservatives are not alone as objects of Reed's scorn; they are joined by: George Will, Pat Buchanan, feminists, NPR, The New York Review of Books, The Color Purple, Oprah Winfrey, Desiree Washington, the FBI, Anita Hill, etc. All of them are viewed as having victimized black men, especially the "underclass", in general and specifically, Mike Tyson, Clarence Thomas & Marion Barry.

Every one of Mr. Reed's polemics is impassioned and amusing. And while he seems to have swallowed whole every crackpot conspiracy theory to come down the pike, including blaming heroin, crack and AID's on the US government, there is something ineffably wonderful about a man who can refer to Harper's, New York Times Magazine, NPR and PBS as "powerful sections of neoconservative opinion" in one breath and in the next, refer to them as bastions of feminism.

Don't get me wrong; I disagreed with almost every sentence in this book, but it was a joy to read.

GRADE: C+