On playfulness, anger, mother-daughter relationships, and all the white space in between: Bo Lu (Bao’s Doll) in conversation with Mikaela Luke

Bao’s Doll is one of those books that makes you gasp when you first flip through it and stays with you in your mind long after. 

Filled with soft hues of blue, red, and purple, the book follows a young girl, Bao, who covets a certain kind of relationship with her Mama, one that she sees between her classmates and their mothers. She also covets a birthday party with cakes and balloons and the blond-haired All-American Artist Amanda doll, much like her friend’s—and she believes that there is at least something she can do about one of those wishes. The picture book continues with Bao’s spontaneous attempt to shoplift the doll, the feeling of embarrassment and increasing distance between her and her mom that follows, and finally, with Bao’s apology, a moment of connection as her mom opens up about her own struggles as a child in an orphanage. Gorgeous hues of purple flood into Bao’s room as she begins to feel for her mother (whose outfits are painted in a contrasting blue to Bao’s signature red). As Bao and Mama begin to sew their own doll together, the book concludes with the feeling that a new chapter of their relationship is just beginning. 

It was an honor and delight to interview Bo Lu about her debut picture book, Bao’s Doll, which came out in June this year. I hope you enjoy our conversation about Taiwan, finding white space in life, being a wild child, and more below!  


ML: Hi Bo! I thought it would be fun to start with this tidbit that the readers might be excited to hear, which is that you are actually in Taiwan right now as we’re conducting this interview! How has your trip been so far?

BL: It’s been really lovely to be in Taiwan. I think coming back to Taiwan sometimes now I feel like the outsider, feeling like, “Oh, I really actually need Google Maps to orient myself or I really don’t know where to go!” But having been here a couple of times for a little bit of a longer duration with my family, I now have cafes that I like to go to and work on my children’s books while I’m in the cafe. Having something like that — a cafe to go to, for example—makes me feel like more of a true local. To think, “Oh, I’m doing a job and I am in Taiwan” — and I can use my Yo Yo card to ride the bikes! 

ML: Yes totally, it makes a difference! And side note to just agree — I love grabbing Ubikes, there’s something about the scenery and the wind in my hair. When you’re not being an illustrator, what does your life look like? What do you like doing?

BL: I’ve been really working on taking walks without podcasts or music on or talking to my friends. It’s been my way of reconnecting with myself, especially when I feel frozen by decision paralysis. Taking a walk like this, I’ll find clarity and sometimes the answer to a question will just come to me. But I’m so used to incessantly entertaining myself, with podcasts or connecting with people, that I often don’t have that white space. I realized that even when I’m doing things like taking a walk, I don’t often let myself go blank. 

ML: That’s incredible. Right when you brought up “white space,” I thought about how your artist’s mind must influence your life and vice versa! I imagine that concept of white space is so important when you’re designing something — and it’s so cool that you can find pockets or versions of that in your own life too.  

BL: Totally! I love that you dropped that connection because, yes, white space means a lot to me as a designer and illustrator. I think it really makes the point that you want to make. And also…sometimes I’m just lazy! I don’t want to illustrate the environment! 

ML: Haha! We can always just say yes, white space is so important …it’s totally intentional! Shifting gears now: can you tell us more about what your journey was like becoming a writer and an illustrator? Or specifically, a writer-illustrator? 

BL: Good question! I struggled with thinking about myself as a writer for a long time. Sometimes I don’t trust the words to express fully what I want to say. Picture books allow me to have illustrations to really complement the words. I rely on the words to describe what is happening, but the illustrations to describe how they actually feel.

At the same time, I think I let myself fail a lot more with writing! I’m willing to be bad and I’m willing to just throw things on the wall. In illustration, maybe because I went to art school, I have developed a taste of what “good” is and what I think that looks like. So, I get a lot more frustrated when I’m illustrating, and things don’t come out the way that they are in my head. In my writing, I don’t have that idea of where I’m wanting to go, so it’s a different journey for me.

ML: I can see that! Your writing can be more of a way to explore, whereas as a trained visual artist, that journey may start more with an expectation of where you want to end up and how you craft your way to get there.  

BL: Exactly. But isn’t that ironic? The more trained you are at something, the less likely you might be to explore and play, which is the point and the joy of it all! 

ML: It’s ironic and it’s true! Now we have to get to the book of the moment — Bao’s Doll. What was your journey writing this debut picture book?

BL: I was raised by my aunt while my parents were in the States. That might be kind of common among Asian American families — when members of the family go chase “the American Dream,” other parts of the family might come together to raise the children together as a village. My aunt and uncle raised me along with other aunts nearby and provided me that foundation of love. And yet during the pandemic, when my aunt passed away in Taiwan, I couldn’t even go to the funeral. I was grieving on my own, and my husband suggested I write a letter to her, which my family ended up reading at the funeral. It was my small way of wanting to connect and be there, but it also tapped into something. From there, I started writing a book about her—about Gu Ma—and it tapped into my love for her and her love for me, which was a whole emotional reservoir.

Then my husband said, “Why don’t you write down a lot of the stories from your childhood that you’ve told me?” I have a ton of stories of my bad behaviors—I was a wild child. I was actually very quiet and a shy kid, but there were moments where I just felt so angry. Bao’s Doll reflects a moment where I felt anger, but also a lot of envy. I had this huge desire and shame of not being the same as other people and not feeling understood, either by my family or at large, because I didn’t speak English that well. Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but I used to actually call 911— I don’t know why— and then just hang up, you know? But I think that might have literally been like my cry for help. 

ML: You were struggling. 

BL: I was really struggling; I felt really alone. I moved to the States when I was seven and lost what I thought was my family—because I had never really met my dad, mom and brother before. It also didn’t feel safe at home to express how hard the experience of assimilation was for me. My parents were really busy working at a Chinese restaurant day and night, and it felt like there was no room for complaining. 

There’s also a huge generational divide between what my parents have gone through and what I have. My mom was put in an orphanage for a few years because her family was too poor, until they were able to support her again. She probably felt abandoned and like an outsider too, to some degree, but we were never able to connect on that level. I have so many questions for my mom about her childhood, but it’s been a challenge to communicate. In a way, writing this book has been a way for me to get some of these answers and try to understand her perspective, without her telling me. It’s been healing in that way. 

ML: It’s incredible, because this book feels like it’s not just about the past — it’s very much a product of the present too. You get two main characters, but you are aware that there’s still so much that Bao doesn’t know outside what her mom tells her within the book. There’s still so much left for them to unpack. 

BL: You nailed that. Tomorrow actually, I have a bookstore event here in Taiwan that my mom will be at, and I’m quite nervous about it! I’ve given her the book and even wrote a dedicated note. She didn’t respond right away, but a couple of days later, she did text and say she liked the book. Even just that much, coming from her, means a lot.

I’ve realized more too that so many people have a similar kind of strained relationship with their parents and with themselves. I’ll get messages on Instagram from people I don’t know who tell me that they felt so seen reading my book, because they and their mothers have a similar relationship. It’s these moments that I didn’t really anticipate that have helped me feel less alone. 

ML: That is so impactful. And you actually anticipated my question, which was about how your mother responded to this book—this book that is so much about mother-daughter relationships. So, my next question has to be: how did your daughters react when you showed them this book? 

BL: They were like, “This is you?! You stole a doll?!”  They were so incredulous to think that I could commit such a crime. My younger one is three years old, so I wasn’t sure how much she got from the story. During a Q & A once though, she was actually raised her hand, and I  thought, “Okay, she’s going to ask me for a snack.” But actually, she said, “I see red… and blues… and purple.” So I knew she understood in her own way, which is amazing. Because yes! Color is a huge part of the story; as the two characters begin to understand each other, the blues and reds mix into purples on the page.

ML: That’s incredible! I’m also like your three-year-old daughter, because I also noted the blues and reds and purples too! She can take my job. 

BL: Haha! She can be your intern, as long as you pay her in snacks! 

Books currently on Bo’s mind that she would recommend:

  • The Cat That Lived a Million Times by Yoko Sano
  • You Can’t Kill Snow White by Beatrice Alemagna

Mikaela Luke is a Taiwanese Canadian children’s books reader, scholar, and aspiring editor with a Master of Arts in children’s literature. Her forthcoming academic work in the children’s literature journal The Lion and the Unicorn interrogates racial melancholia and magic in middle-grade fiction. Originally from Vancouver, Canada, Mikaela now lives and works in New York, NY, where she spends her days as a children’s editorial assistant at Sourcebooks. 

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