I’m not a great fan of “ethnic” fiction. By “ethnic fiction,” I don’t mean fiction written by non-EuroAmerican writers or fiction about non-EuroAmerican characters, but that whole genre of fiction that’s really just disguised propaganda for colorblind peace love and understanding.

This dislike started early in me. As a child, I didn’t like any book that could be summarized, “_____ are people too,” or “we’re all the same even though we’re different.”

Those biases are why I was so pleasantly surprised by Yang the Youngest and His Terrible Ear.

It’s a story about children, for children, and it’s a good story. The title character happens to be an immigrant to the U.S., and his problems growing up are aggravated, and made more interesting, by cultural misunderstandings. But the theme is growing up, not growing up-while-being-an-immigrant; discovering who you are, not discovering who you are-as-an-immigrant.