BOOK REPORT #1: TALLGRASS, by SANDRA DALLAS
I just finished reading Tallgrass, a rather dumb book about an important topic: the internment of Japanese-Americans during World War II. To me, the best part of the book was the Acknowledgements section at the beginning, in which the author provided some historical context and touched briefly on the parallels between how the Japanese were treated after the attack on Pearl Harbor and anti-Muslim sentiment today, post-9/11. It was in the Acknowledgements that she also admitted that as a white American, she couldn’t possibly imagine what it was like for those families, the majority of them U.S. citizens, whose lives were so cruelly interrupted; thus, she had written the book from the point of view of someone like her, only younger, a girl of twelve. The story goes downhill from there.
At its very basic – and it was the very basicness of the plot and writing that turned me off – Tallgrass is a study in what happens in a relatively homogenous community when people who look different are introduced. There is inevitably a combination of curiosity and awkwardness, along with array of stock misconceptions – the “I-heard-thats” – from which flat-out hostility can often be just a step away.
Under the influence of her kinder, gentler, and unusually rational father, Loyal Stroud, the story’s heroine, Rennie (I’m not kidding about these names), predictably ends up befriending several residents of the “camp” called Tallgrass that sprang up next to the Stroud’s sugar beet farm in western Colorado. Sure, the relationship was born more of necessity than courage – with much of the usual farm labor enlisted, and only a bunch of Mexicans who could possibly fill their place, Loyal needed “good workers” to plant his beets – but the entire Stroud clan soon learned that the Japanese were in fact not so different from themselves.
Predictably, the Strouds were shunned by much of their community, but just as predictably, many of them eventually followed Loyal’s lead and came around to be at least tolerant. Those who did were greatly enriched by the experience. The End – almost.
I am not a big fan of coming-of-age novels in general, and if it weren’t for the recurring themes of rape and murder in this one – it was in fact a who-done-it, with all of the predictable faulty accusations – I would have imagined it being written for teenaged readers. It’s too bad that it wasn’t (unless, of course, that’s what teenagers are reading these days and I just don’t know about it): Despite all of the basicness, the story carried an important messages for a generation that could very well grow up ignorant of this and other blots on America’s “all men are created equal” rep. World War II may have been some 65 years ago now, but the Tallgrass experience still goes on in residential, corporate, social and school communities all the time. He may have had a goofy name, but it’s going to take all the Loyal Stroud’s we can get to ultimately make a difference.
At its very basic – and it was the very basicness of the plot and writing that turned me off – Tallgrass is a study in what happens in a relatively homogenous community when people who look different are introduced. There is inevitably a combination of curiosity and awkwardness, along with array of stock misconceptions – the “I-heard-thats” – from which flat-out hostility can often be just a step away.
Under the influence of her kinder, gentler, and unusually rational father, Loyal Stroud, the story’s heroine, Rennie (I’m not kidding about these names), predictably ends up befriending several residents of the “camp” called Tallgrass that sprang up next to the Stroud’s sugar beet farm in western Colorado. Sure, the relationship was born more of necessity than courage – with much of the usual farm labor enlisted, and only a bunch of Mexicans who could possibly fill their place, Loyal needed “good workers” to plant his beets – but the entire Stroud clan soon learned that the Japanese were in fact not so different from themselves.
Predictably, the Strouds were shunned by much of their community, but just as predictably, many of them eventually followed Loyal’s lead and came around to be at least tolerant. Those who did were greatly enriched by the experience. The End – almost.
I am not a big fan of coming-of-age novels in general, and if it weren’t for the recurring themes of rape and murder in this one – it was in fact a who-done-it, with all of the predictable faulty accusations – I would have imagined it being written for teenaged readers. It’s too bad that it wasn’t (unless, of course, that’s what teenagers are reading these days and I just don’t know about it): Despite all of the basicness, the story carried an important messages for a generation that could very well grow up ignorant of this and other blots on America’s “all men are created equal” rep. World War II may have been some 65 years ago now, but the Tallgrass experience still goes on in residential, corporate, social and school communities all the time. He may have had a goofy name, but it’s going to take all the Loyal Stroud’s we can get to ultimately make a difference.
Ah yes... sounds like To Kill a Mockingbird with Asian people...
I used to co-teach a coming of age novel unit with multiple identity groups, especially marginalized groups. We'd do small book groups reading titles like Rite of Passage, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, Farewell to Manzanar, House on Mango Street, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Red Azalea, Catcher in the Rye, Throwaway Daughter, A Yellow Raft in Blue Water, Totally Joe... We wanted to go through the coming of age experience that had the potential of mirroring some of the kids' experiences.
You know what I noticed? There were so many stories of the "good ones" the enlightened, white, able, heterosexual people who would "reach out to" or "stand up for" or "befriend against all odds" the people of color, the differently abled, the non-heterosexual protagonists.
You know what else? I noticed all these allies would be inevitably the wealthy, respected, or powerful members of the dominant community - like the lawyer Atticus Finch in Mockingbird and sounds like farm owner Loyal Stroud in Tallgrass. Sure they risk isolation or loss of status, and sometimes physical danger. But isn't it easier to risk when you have plenty to begin with? When you haven't been fighting to gain equality or respect in the first place?
It's not that I don't appreciate the examples given in these novels of how we can all overcome assumptions to make connections across boundaries. These are important lessons indeed. But I would really like examples that go beyond the magnanimous and philanthropic. I would like stories of people of color fighting the good fight and still reaching out and speaking up for disabled people. I would like stories of gay people fighting the good fight and still connecting and advocating for people who are struggling to feed their families on minimum-wage jobs.
I bring this point up because when I try to build coalitions among people of marginalized identities, I often hear the "life is hard enough as it is for me, I need to fight my own fight." Or "those people don't have it as bad as I do, why should I stick up for their issues?" And as an Asian person, a woman, a bisexual person, an immigrant, as a person with learning disabilities, as a person who grew up poor, I find many communities pulling at me telling me I have betrayed the "most important cause."
I hope the lesson can do deeper and wider than "helping people worse off." I know we can act from the best within us when we are in plenty. I hope we can act from the best within us even when we are in need. I want a coming of age novel that tells THAT story. If you find one, please let me know - I'd love to share it with my kids, my colleagues, my family, and my friends...
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