Here are 100 books that My Broken Mariko fans have personally recommended if you like
My Broken Mariko.
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I’ve dealt with depression from a young age. Books like these make me feel better because they give me the time to focus on someone else dealing with similar (or worse) feelings without minimizing my own circumstances. Or perhaps, is it schadenfreude? I have no idea! Huge warning, though. This list mixes some really dark stuff. Please proceed with caution. But I did throw some sweet ones in there, too, as a treat!
This is one of those graphic novels where the drawing style completely matches the harrowing events of being a comfort woman (cw rape) for the Japanese Imperial Army during World War II. Maybe I’m biased as a Korean-American who gets emotional watching Asian elders suffering before my eyes, but every five pages, I have to stop and take a deep breath.
I learned so much in this book than what we were ever taught in the American education system. It’s a gift to have the story of a real former comfort woman told like this. I’ll treasure this book forever.
Grass is a powerful anti-war graphic novel, offering up firsthand the life story of a Korean girl named Okseon Lee who was forced into sexual slavery for the Japanese Imperial Army during the second World War a disputed chapter in 20th century Asian history. Beginning in Lee s childhood, Grass shows the leadup to World War II from a child s vulnerable perspective, detailing how one person experienced the Japanese occupation and the widespread suffering it entailed for ordinary Korean folk. Keum Suk Gendry-Kim emphasizes Lee s strength in overcoming the many forms of adversity she experienced. Grass is painted…
I’ve dealt with depression from a young age. Books like these make me feel better because they give me the time to focus on someone else dealing with similar (or worse) feelings without minimizing my own circumstances. Or perhaps, is it schadenfreude? I have no idea! Huge warning, though. This list mixes some really dark stuff. Please proceed with caution. But I did throw some sweet ones in there, too, as a treat!
Everyone I love who’s seen my shelf knows how much I love this picture book. I adore the simple ink drawings; it’s all I need to understand to story.
I never expected a 32-page book to break me like this. It makes me want to hug my cat Marlie and never let go (to her annoyance). To me, it explained life and death so perfectly—when one goes away, another comes into our lives.
There was a cat who lived alone. Until the day a new cat came . . .
And so a story of friendship begins, following two cats through their days, months, and years until one day, the older cat has to go. And he doesn't come back.
This is a poignant story, told in measured text and bold black-and-white illustrations about life and the act of moving on.
I’ve dealt with depression from a young age. Books like these make me feel better because they give me the time to focus on someone else dealing with similar (or worse) feelings without minimizing my own circumstances. Or perhaps, is it schadenfreude? I have no idea! Huge warning, though. This list mixes some really dark stuff. Please proceed with caution. But I did throw some sweet ones in there, too, as a treat!
Ever loved a book series so much that you got it permanently etched on your skin? (That’s me) Punpun, the titular character seen to readers as a line drawing of a bird, has one of the most broken families I’ve ever read about. Still, I found solace in his life. Ending the series (even though I couldn’t sleep that night) I wanted to go back and start again just to see how much he has developed.
Most of the characters are pretty unlikeable which makes them realistic. Even with the way Asano draws them, you’d think he’s pretty pessimistic about the overall human spirit too. I will say that this book has nearly every trigger warning I can think of, so be careful.
A dark coming-of-age tale where slice-of-life slices back.
This is Punpun Onodera's coming-of-age story. His parents' marriage is falling apart. His dad goes to jail, and his mom goes to the hospital. He has to live with his loser uncle. He has a crush on a girl who lives in a weird cult. Punpun tries talking with God about his problems, but God is a jerk. Punpun keeps hoping things will get better, but they really, really don't.
Meet Punpun Punyama. He's an average kid in an average town.
He wants to win a Nobel Prize and save the world.…
I’ve dealt with depression from a young age. Books like these make me feel better because they give me the time to focus on someone else dealing with similar (or worse) feelings without minimizing my own circumstances. Or perhaps, is it schadenfreude? I have no idea! Huge warning, though. This list mixes some really dark stuff. Please proceed with caution. But I did throw some sweet ones in there, too, as a treat!
This is less of a book about mental illnesses and human atrocities, but it still makes me want to chew my own heart and spit it out like bubblegum. Igarashi’s work leans heavily on the concept of living in a universe while in turn, having universe live inside of all of us.
I am in constant awe of all the drawings on every page, and every concept (i.e., the waves on a shore carrying messages and memories from the open ocean) makes me look at the world in a different light.
When Ruka was younger, she saw a ghost in the water at the aquarium where her dad works. Now she feels drawn toward the aquarium and the two mysterious boys she meets there, Umi and Sora. They were raised by dugongs and hear the same strange calls from the sea as she does.
Ruka's dad and the other adults who work at the aquarium are only distantly aware of what the children are experiencing as they get caught up in the mystery of the worldwide disappearance of the oceans' fish.
Horror was never something that appealed to me when I was younger. However, in adulthood, I realised the fascination of the unsettling. As I began writing, I realised that true horror is not all about monsters and gore but about breaking our everyday complacency and realising the possibility that the world is bigger than us and how we are unprepared to deal with it. This is why I write horror. Not to shock you with a jump-scare, but you leave you thinking about my words long after the lights have gone out.
His storytelling and artwork combined create books which even the strongest stomached would find uncomfortable. And yet, we are drawn to them, unable to look away. And he understands that the most terrifying thing is not an invasion by something outside of our world but the realisation that the everyday world around us might turn against us.
Uzumaki is a story about incomprehensible obsession and how it can take over a society to the point of destruction. One by one, the people of a small Japanese town become obsessed with spirals. Not a monster or a ghost, but a shape, until the power behind it destroys everything.
Kurozu-cho, a small fogbound town on the coast of Japan, is cursed. According to Shuichi Saito, the withdrawn boyfriend of teenager Kirie Goshima, their town is haunted not by a person or being but by a pattern: uzumaki, the spiral, the hypnotic secret shape of the world. It manifests itself in everything from seashells and whirlpools in water to the spiral marks on people's bodies, the insane obsessions of Shuichi's father and the voice from the cochlea in our inner ear. As the madness spreads, the inhabitants of Kurozu-cho are pulled ever deeper into a whirlpool from which there is…
As someone half-Japanese who grew up in Austria, I've spent the last few years making sense of my relationship to my mother’s homeland. My mother spoke Japanese to us children from an early age, and we spent many childhood summers with our grandparents in Okayama. Because of this, my mother's home feels intimate and familiar to me. But it is also distant and foreign, and it is precisely this unknown, the seemingly exotic and mysterious, that I hope to approach through reading. For me, Japan is a kind of poetic space I set my characters in. In my last three books Japan was both the setting and the secret protagonist.
Now, I am no friend to graphic novels. As a novelist I prefer a story told in long strokes. For Taniguchi Jiro, however, I make an exception.
When I stumbled across A Journal of My Father, I was initially skeptical. Page after page, however, with an almost cinematic panorama laid out before me, I found myself in complete awe of the fine power of observation that Taniguchi brings to the small things in life. The simple and still finds artistic expression in his work, the every day suddenly seems notable, and anyone who – like me – often finds themselves reaching for a handkerchief, consider yourself warned: this touches you, though without a show of sentimentality.
After the death of his father, a man travels to his hometown and, through various conversations and encounters, pursues memories that have stayed with him since childhood. That doesn’t sound all that exciting. But…
KNOW THY FATHER The book opens with some childhood thoughts of Yoichi Yamashita spurred by a phone call at work informing him of his father’s death. So, he journeys back to his hometown after an absence of well over a decade during which time he has not seen his father. But as the relatives gather for the funeral and the stories start to flow, Yoichi’s childhood starts to resurface. The Spring afternoons playing on the floor of his father’s barber shop, the fire that ravaged the city and his family home, his parents’ divorce and a new ‘mother’. Through confidences…
I’m a Tokyo-based writer who first came to Japan during university to live with a host family and study the language. After a stint in Shanghai, Japan brought me back in 2012 and I’ve lived here ever since. I’ve cycled across remote Okinawan islands, wandered Kyoto’s cobblestone lanes, and trekked to mountaintop temples in heavy snow. But some of my best memories have happened over homemade plum wine at a friend’s dinner table. I’ve written two books published by Moon Travel Guides and countless articles on Asia, with some being chosen for “best of” lists by The Washington Post, The Atlantic, Foreign Policy, andReal Clear World.
When it comes to the seasons, Japan often conjures images of the pink, transient wave of cherry blossoms that ripples through the islands each spring. Iyer, however, suggests in this mature follow-up toThe Lady and the Monk that autumn, with its blazing yellow ginkos and red maples, is when Japan’s essence most clearly shines through. He brings us into a sleepy corner of Nara where he lives with his wife Hiroko, plays ping-pong with spry local seniors, and grapples with the decline of his mother-in-law and sudden loss of his father-in-law. At its core, this is a book about ageing, time, and the quintessentially Japanese knack for seeing beauty in impermanence. Having cycled through more than a decade of autumns in Japan myself, Iyer’s musings ring true.
In this “exquisite personal blend of philosophy and engagement, inner quiet and worldly life" (Los Angeles Times), an acclaimed author returns to his longtime home in Japan after his father-in-law’s sudden death and picks up the steadying patterns of his everyday rites, reminding us to take nothing for granted.
In a country whose calendar is marked with occasions honoring the dead, Pico Iyer comes to reflect on changelessness in ways that anyone can relate to: parents age, children scatter, and Iyer and his wife turn to whatever can sustain them as everything falls away. As the maple leaves begin to…
I’ve long been fascinated by tales of the paranormal. Legends of ghosts, ogres, and demons stretch back to prehistory, and as H.P. Lovecraft wrote, “The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.” Advances in science and technology are often seen as a remedy against fearing things that go bump in the night. But in the realm of speculative fiction, what if such technology becomes the opposite: a means for the supernatural to make its presence known? This fearful juxtaposition is skillfully depicted in the five books I describe below. I hope you enjoy them.
I found this novel conceptually fascinating, as it depicts the use of a common (at the time) entertainment technology—a videotape—as a means of attack by a terrifying supernatural menace.
I also enjoy cross-genre fiction, and while this is primarily a horror novel, it is also a mystery in which the protagonist must race against time for a solution to a deadly predicament.
Stunning Japanese thriller with a chilling supernatural twist. The novel that inspired the cult Japanese movie and the Hollywood blockbuster of the same name.
Asakawa is a hardworking journalist who has climbed his way up from local-news beat reporter to writer for his newspaper's weekly magazine. A chronic workaholic, he doesn't take much notice when his seventeen-year-old niece dies suddenly - until a chance conversation reveals that another healthy teenager died at exactly the same time, in chillingly similar circumstances.
Sensing a story, Asakawa begins to investigate, and soon discovers that this strange simultaneous sudden-death syndrome also affected another two…
I’m half-Filipino and half-Spanish. Growing up in the Philippines, I had to deal with many of the same emotions that the characters on this list go through. My identity made sense to me, but I found that I often had to explain it to other people, and I also found that outside my own house, people made their own opinions about whether I was more Filipino, more Spanish, or something else entirely. I’ve always been fascinated by how characters in fiction deal with this struggle, and I’ve always related more to characters who feel out of place.
The Keeper of Night’s protagonist Ren Scarborough is the epitome of a character trapped between two worlds. Half-British Reaper, half-Japanese Shinigami, Ren starts off the book living in London but never quite feels like she belongs there. When she travels to Japan for the first time, she finds out that Japan isn’t quite as she expected it and ends up getting tangled in the affairs of Yomi, the Japanese underworld. Although a bit on the darker side, this is a fantastic book for anyone interested in Japanese mythology, anyone who likes their fantasy a little on the dark side, and anyone who’s felt the frustration of never quite fitting in anywhere.
“Sharp and seductive…a fantasy with teeth.” —Julie C. Dao, author of Forest of a Thousand Lanterns
A girl of two worlds, accepted by none… A half Reaper, half Shinigami soul collector seeks her destiny in this haunting and compulsively readable dark fantasy duology set in 1890s Japan.
Death is her destiny.
Half British Reaper, half Japanese Shinigami, Ren Scarborough has been collecting souls in the London streets for centuries. Expected to obey the harsh hierarchy of the Reapers who despise her, Ren conceals her emotions and avoids her tormentors as best she can.
I’m sure we all remember some of the first books we picked up, and how they’ve stayed with us despite every year that ticked away. These were stories that didn’t just resonate with us as kids; a part of them lasted—transcended age and periodic experiences. I love books that you can reach for no matter how old you are, with lessons and stories that can be enjoyed by anyone. My own writing is a reflection of that: timeless tales that bridge the gap between adolescence and adulthood, hoping to touch hearts with a spectrum of knowledge in science, myth, and philosophy.
I originally picked up this book after hearing it was Hayao Miyazaki’s favourite childhood book. But the more I read, the more I saw how it changed me too. Thought-provoking and philosophically balanced, How Do You Live? asks questions that will throw any reader into a realm of introspection. A story about a 15-year-old boy and his uncle may seem simple, but its deeply human core provides angles and dimensions that range from history, science, and sociology. An experience to read.
The first English translation of the classic Japanese novel that has sold over 2 million copies—a childhood favorite of anime master Hayao Miyazaki (Spirited Away, My Neighbor Totoro, Howl’s Moving Castle), with an introduction by Neil Gaiman.
First published in 1937, Genzaburō Yoshino’s How Do You Live? has long been acknowledged in Japan as a crossover classic for young readers. Academy Award–winning animator Hayao Miyazaki has called it his favorite childhood book and announced plans to emerge from retirement to make it the basis of his final film.
How Do You Live? is narrated in two voices. The first belongs…
