Soon Enough, Later: Fiction by Naomi Gage

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It had been six weeks, but the memory lay in her like the pit of a stone fruit. Lila hunched over in the passenger seat, leaning her head against the cold, greasy glass of the window. Rain drummed the glass with a wild, hammersome kind of fury that seemed fatally separate from the precise, measured conversation inside the car. Lila fantasized punching the window open, breaking it like a flower splitting into bloom, fractals spiraling everywhere— how the bone would brutalize the skin, nerves lighting…

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sunlight in a bottle: Fiction by Davina Jou

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There was dirt on my knees and the floor of the car. There was a wine bottle in the front seat that burned to the touch. I’d wrapped it in a cobbled-together bundle of magazines, half-burnt newspapers from the incense sticks we’ve put out on them, long-lost sweaters, and food wrappers. My head thunked against the steering wheel. Once. Twice.  See, the thing is, most people’s grandparents leave behind some sort of heirloom. A pearl necklace. Or a silk dress. Or, even a bottle of scotch.…

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Umbilical Cord: Creative Nonfiction by brenda Lin

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Before my mother’s wedding day, my grandmother gifted her the umbilical cord that had dried up and fallen off her newborn belly, which Ama had carefully saved all those years. This is a common practice in Taiwanese families because Taiwanese people love homonyms and umbilicus, which is the navel, is pronounced like the word for wealth (臍/財) in Taiwanese, so that when one’s umbilical cord is returned, it is transformed into an ouroboros gift of good wishes. My mother showed hers to me when…

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A-chieu: Fiction by Wiley Ho

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Even before she entered the house, I would hear A-chieu calling to whoever might be in the courtyard “Have you eaten yet?” It was a common greeting but, in Hakka, in the way A-chieu said it, it sounded more like an accusation.  A-chieu was our family cook when I was little in Taiwan. She would be a hundred today but in my memory, she is a woman in her prime, full of fire and the master of the flame. A stout woman with powerful limbs, her thick body darted impossibly fast between the sink…

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On Family, Love, and Creating: Jocelyn Chung & Julia Kuo (When Love is More Than Words) in conversation with Jasmine Fang

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Jasmine: Hi Jocelyn and Julia! Congratulations Jocelyn on your debut picture book, and thank you both for creating WHEN LOVE IS MORE THAN WORDS. I was immediately intrigued by the title and thrilled to see this Taiwanese American pairing. What a beautiful story that will resonate deeply with young readers. This book is a mirror for me, as I felt transported back to my Taiwanese childhood.  I love that you’ve captured the magic of intergenerational love in WHEN LOVE IS MORE THAN WORDS. What…

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

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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…

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“To be left ignorant about Asian American history is to erase who we are as a people”: Ellie Yang Camp’s “Louder Than the Lies”

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Taiwanese American author Ellie Yang Camp has been a high school history teacher, an artist, and an anti-racist educator. Now she’s taking on another task, authoring Louder Than the Lies: Asian American Identity, Solidarity, and Self-Love. In this book she unpacks the Asian American identity by drawing on personal experiences, stories from her friends, and the history of Asians in America. She also tackles the topic of white supremacy, capitalism, and racial solidarity.   This is not a…

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“Lin”: A Short Story by Triona Tsai

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Lin was tired of running.  When her family was ripped from her 15 year old world, Lin ran. She ran to escape the scathing voices in her head. Ran to escape the hunger for a warm embrace. 1 year, 6 months, and 8 days later, Lin ran alone. As the youngest of three, Lin had never expected to be the last one. Her brother, Jin, was crafted from the watery depths, his disposition as unruly and free as the tormented sea. Waterfalls of water twisted and curled like an obedient beast at the flick…

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“Kinmen, 1969”: Fiction by Deborah Jang

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  2024 Grand Prize Winner, College Category On odd days of the month, the mainland bombards the islands with shells. On even days, we return the favor. The steel capsules come thick and fast, a distinctive whistle in the air. My teacher instructs us to take cover in the concrete-reinforced bomb shelter under the school’s track. I don’t learn very much on those days.  Half a million shells landed on Kinmen in forty days. If Kinmen is 150 square kilometers, calculate the number…

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