We use cookies to distinguish you from other users and to provide you with a better experience on our websites. Close this message to accept cookies or find out how to manage your cookie settings.
To save content items to your account,
please confirm that you agree to abide by our usage policies.
If this is the first time you use this feature, you will be asked to authorise Cambridge Core to connect with your account.
Find out more about saving content to .
To save content items to your Kindle, first ensure no-reply@cambridge.org
is added to your Approved Personal Document E-mail List under your Personal Document Settings
on the Manage Your Content and Devices page of your Amazon account. Then enter the ‘name’ part
of your Kindle email address below.
Find out more about saving to your Kindle.
Note you can select to save to either the @free.kindle.com or @kindle.com variations.
‘@free.kindle.com’ emails are free but can only be saved to your device when it is connected to wi-fi.
‘@kindle.com’ emails can be delivered even when you are not connected to wi-fi, but note that service fees apply.
Bad Day at Black Rock is a Western set just after the end of World War II. The desert town of Black Rock, teetering on the edges of both a failed frontier and postwar disillusionment, was once home to a Japanese American man named Komako. At Black Rock, Komako had found water where others had failed – and water is worth killing for. After murdering Komako and burying him beside his well, Black Rock masks the deed by claiming Komako had been “shipped off” to an incarceration camp during the war. Examining the layered machinations at play in Black Rock's lie, this chapter turns to earth: it reads the landscape as a vital surround through which Komako and the incarceration of Japanese Americans physically and hauntingly manifest at Black Rock. It links the Western and the West to narratives of Japanese American incarceration, both bound to the settler colonial impulse that seeks to consolidate US power and authority over land, water, and people in the West. Simultaneously indebted to ecocriticism and comparative race studies, this chapter explores the ways Black Rock’s Hollywood Western becomes an incarceration tale – which in turn becomes a narrative of settler colonial eco-imperialism.
Instead of assuming it as a given or an inherent good, this chapter examines cross-racial solidarity in Asian American literature through an emphasis on what historian David Roediger calls “productive uneasiness over solidarity.” It focuses on three flashpoints of racial consciousness: (1) post-civil rights reckonings of Japanese American incarceration, (2) the cultural nationalist search for Asian American identity, and (3) reflections on the Asian American social and political position after the 1992 Los Angeles uprising. These flashpoints encouraged Asian American writers to envision commonalities across racial difference and notice singularities that bespeak the construction of Asian racial difference. Asian American literature’s “productive uneasiness over solidarity” appears in the process of seeing and articulating these commonalities and singularities, not as fixed products but as fluctuating and shifting processes. As writers ask probing questions about Asian American identities and identification, Asian American literature brings into focus both a historical Black–white racial binary and a new but vexing multiculturalism as the fulcra of imagining cross-racial solidarity.
There is a rich history of incarceration literature produced by Niseis (second-generation, American-born), some of which appeared very shortly after the end of the war. This chapter focuses on selected representative texts written by Niseis, and published up through the 1970s. This body of work represents varied and deeply felt responses that are often coded critiques of the Japanese American incarceration. Three of the most foundational texts about the incarceration appeared within eight years of its official end: Miné Okubo's Citizen 13660, Hisaye Yamamoto's The Legend of Miss Sasagawara, and Monica Sone's Nisei Daughter. Notable in all three texts is an overt description or narrative of camp life and a covert critique of the racism and failure of an espoused U.S. democracy. As a dissenting text, John Okada's No-No Boy was direct in its depiction of the cost wrought by the war, incarceration, and reductive, racist notions of citizenship.
Recommend this
Email your librarian or administrator to recommend adding this to your organisation's collection.