5. A New School for Susan
Jul. 8th, 2009 10:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
osprey_archerYoshiko Uchida wrote A New School for Susan in 1951, and I read it out of historical interest as much as anything else: what were the yay!multiculturalism books of the fifties like?
This one, at least, is a very stereotypically fifties children’s book: happy little boys and girls attending their happy little school, where they draw cheerful little pictures under the watchful eyes of their cheery teacher and jolly principal. It’s just that instead of featuring little blonde girls named Sally and Sandy and Susan, the Susan in this book is Japanese-American.
This book might be the most frictionless thing I’ve ever read. No arguments, no conflicts of any kind, certainly no mention of leftover racism from World War II or the Japanese internment camps – which would have been a pretty raw memory at the time, so I can’t blame Uchida if she didn't want to write about it; but still, not even any arguments?
But the book’s raison d’etre is to inform the reader that “People of Japanese descent can be good Americans! Just like you, right down to the Wonderbread!” – and if a good American is hereby defined as “as boring as Ozzie and Harriet,” this book is definitely holding up the side.
I know that the fifties weren’t actually as bland and boring as they’re so often made out to be – Laura Shapiro’s excellent book, Something from the Oven, demonstrates a lot of the frictions underneath the surface, (while also ranting at length about food, which I always enjoy) – but cultural artifacts like this make that hard to keep in mind.
This one, at least, is a very stereotypically fifties children’s book: happy little boys and girls attending their happy little school, where they draw cheerful little pictures under the watchful eyes of their cheery teacher and jolly principal. It’s just that instead of featuring little blonde girls named Sally and Sandy and Susan, the Susan in this book is Japanese-American.
This book might be the most frictionless thing I’ve ever read. No arguments, no conflicts of any kind, certainly no mention of leftover racism from World War II or the Japanese internment camps – which would have been a pretty raw memory at the time, so I can’t blame Uchida if she didn't want to write about it; but still, not even any arguments?
But the book’s raison d’etre is to inform the reader that “People of Japanese descent can be good Americans! Just like you, right down to the Wonderbread!” – and if a good American is hereby defined as “as boring as Ozzie and Harriet,” this book is definitely holding up the side.
I know that the fifties weren’t actually as bland and boring as they’re so often made out to be – Laura Shapiro’s excellent book, Something from the Oven, demonstrates a lot of the frictions underneath the surface, (while also ranting at length about food, which I always enjoy) – but cultural artifacts like this make that hard to keep in mind.
