Review: The Leftover Woman (by Jean Kwok)

My Rating:  3.5 stars

Now that I have a little bit of a break from the demands of work and school, I am hoping to get caught back up on the new releases and book club reads that I had been neglecting over the past month.  One of those new releases is Jean Kwok's latest novel The Leftover Woman, which came out earlier in the month.  I had read Kwok's previous novel Searching for Sylvie Lee several years back and had really enjoyed it, so of course this book, her newest work, was highly anticipated. In the end, Kwok definitely didn't disappoint, as she delivered a solid, compelling story that proved to be both culturally resonant as well as thought-provoking -  though not without a few flaws.

At the center of the story are two women from completely opposite worlds.  Jasmine Yang is a young Chinese woman from a poor rural village who enters into an arranged marriage at 14 to a man years older than her. After suffering several miscarriages, Jasmine finally gives birth to a daughter, but not too long afterwards, is told that the baby died.  Jasmine is devastated — until she finds out that her husband lied to her and actually gave the baby up for adoption so that they could try for a son under China's strict One Child Policy. Determined to find her daughter, Jasmine plans an escape from her abusive marriage and eventually lands in New York through the help of "snakeheads" whom she has to figure out a way to pay back.  Meanwhile, in New York, Rebecca Whitney is an editor at a glamorous publishing house who is living the dream life — she has a prestigious family name and the accompanying wealth and privilege that comes with it, and she lives in a beautiful house with a handsome, talented husband aa well as an adopted daughter whom she adores.  But balancing a high profile career with the demands of marriage and motherhood is not easy and when a work-related scandal breaks out, Rebecca finds her perfect life slowly starting to unravel.  The story is told alternately from the perspectives of these two very different women whose lives end up colliding in unexpected ways.

I really appreciated the premise of this story, especially Jasmine's storyline about her struggles fleeing an archaic, patriarchal system and the choices she had to make once she was in America trying to find her daughter. Not that I didn't like Rebecca's storyline, but I just felt that it was less necessary — I would've liked to see Jasmine's story explored more, as there were opportunities there that were only touched upon.  I will be honest in saying that I preferred Jasmine's story arc and the direction that Kwok went with it (though there was potential for more as I mentioned earlier), whereas Rebecca's story arc felt typical of other stories that we've read before.

Plot-wise, I felt that the first half of the story dragged a bit and the buildup was slow — I definitely preferred the second half better, though the ending also felt too rushed (and there were some plot holes that weren't too believable). Despite the pacing issues though, I enjoyed this one overall — the cultural aspects were done well and the "twist" did take me by surprise (though it didn't blow me away to the point that I keep thinking about it like I've done with other twists).  

I don't want to say too much, since this IS a mystery / thriller after all, so it's best to go in knowing as little as possible (though I have to say that the story was more character-driven than plot-driven, so from that aspect, the thriller element was less prominent).  I definitely recommend picking this one up, especially if you're looking for a story that has mystery / thriller elements, but also emotional depth and poignancy.  I can't wait to see what Kwok comes out with next!

Received ARC from William Morrow via NetGalley.

Review: The Joy Luck Club (by Amy Tan)

My Rating:  5 stars

Catch up review #3

I read The Joy Luck Club for the first time many many years ago, when I was a teenager in high school.  At the time, despite my shared background with the characters in the interconnected stories (the "Americanized" daughter of Chinese immigrant parents), I was too young to fully understand the significance of the book from a cultural perspective.  Re-reading this book now, as an adult, is a completely different experience for me, in large part due to the insights that I've gained from the 4 decades I've spent (and continue to spend) navigating my cultural identity. 

Consisting of 16 interconnected stories narrated alternately by 4 pairs of Chinese mothers and their Chinese-American daughters, Amy Tan's debut novel is a powerful exploration of the struggle between the mothers and daughters to relate to and understand each other amongst the cultural and generational disparities that define their relationships.  As I mentioned earlier, reading The Joy Luck Club this time around felt very different from when I did so in my youth — in addition to picking up on nuances with language that I didn't notice previously, most significant was the resonance I felt in the experiences of the various characters. Not only did I recognize aspects of myself in each of the daughters, I also recognized the struggles  in each of their relationships with their mothers — relationships fraught with misunderstandings, communication issues, unspoken hurt and pain, defiant silences, etc., yet ultimately rooted in love and the unbreakable bonds of family.  Each story had a familiar experience or feeling that I recognized and related to.  In the story "Without Wood," for example, I understood exactly where Rose was coming from when she kept hesitating time and time again to tell her mother An-Mei about her impending divorce because she was trying to avoid the criticism, judgment, and unwanted advice that was sure to follow her revelation (avoiding criticism from our mothers is pretty much a way of life for many Chinese daughters). The story "Two Kinds" brought tears to my eyes because I understood acutely the sense of failure that comes with not living up to my mother's hope and expectations (not to mention the argument about obedience and the expectations of a Chinese daughter that Jing-Mei has with her mother Suyuan echoes ones I've had in the past with my mom).  In the story "Rules of the Game," I commiserated with Waverly when her attempt to rebuke and defy her mother leads to her getting the silent treatment (which is something I've experienced countless times growing up). These were just a few examples among many.

But it wasn't just the daughters' experiences that I related to — the stories told from the mothers' perspectives were also profound in the way they provided clarity to some of the cultural circumstances that informed the mothers' lives, which in turn, affected their behaviors toward their daughters.  In these stories, I was able to recognize some of my own mother's experiences as well as things she's told me in the past that, at the time, I may not have understood the significance — these stories then, had the effect of helping me reflect and make better sense of things. 

Aside from being able to resonate with the characters' experiences and feelings on a personal level, I also appreciated coming across so many cultural references in the book that I grew up hearing about — a few examples: the Moon Lady story, the tale of Old Mr. Chou (I was also told the tale when I was a kid), the superstition about rice husbands (this was a huge one in my family), the historical details about China from some of the mothers' stories, etc.

With all that said though, the biggest thing that sets this book apart from so many others about the Chinese-American experience is the writing.  Tan writes in a way that, on the surface, appears simple and straightforward, but when you look deeper, there is a masterful complexity to it that, quite frankly, blows my mind.  In my previous review of Tan's novel The Kitchen God's Wife, I touched on how brilliantly she uses the mechanics of language to create nuance and meaning — this is certainly the case here as well.  At the same time, Tan's writing is also thoughtful, meticulous, and sincere — all qualities that, to me, are absolutely necessary when it comes to books (and stories) about cultural experiences.

I'm usually not a huge re-reader, especially nowadays when I have so many books I haven't yet read that I actually want to read.  But some books are worth taking the time to re-read —The Joy Luck Club is definitely one of them.  

Review: The Kitchen God’s Wife (by Amy Tan)

My Rating:  4.5 stars

As I mentioned in a previous review — I've read quite a few books over the past few weeks, but did not get around to writing reviews on any of them.  I have a little more time now so I'm trying to "catch up" on those reviews.  This, then, is catch up review #2.

One of the books I read during this time period is Amy Tan's The Kitchen God's Wife —originally published in 1991, this is Tan's second novel after The Joy Luck Club (which I also read and will review at a later date). As most readers familiar with Tan probably know, many of her works contain autobiographical elements (to an extent) either from her own life or from her family's background. In this case, the story is based on her mother Daisy's history and while many of the details were changed, the essence of her mother's backstory remained — specifically the depictions of how women were treated in China during that time period (1920s to late 1940s) as well as some of the things she had to endure and survive.  At its heart though, this is also a historical novel that chronicles the changes in China from the 1920s (when the vestiges of its feudal past were especially apparent) leading up to WWII and its aftermath (one of the things I appreciate most is that Tan tells this history from the Chinese perspective, rather than from the Western perspective).  

Interestingly enough, the story actually starts in the 1980s, in San Francisco, and the first few chapters do feel a little like The Joy Luck Club with its exploration of mother/daughter relationships and the generational as well as cultural gap that causes seemingly insurmountable tensions between them.  The mother is Winnie Louie, who is forced to tell her daughter Pearl about her past when her sister-in-law Helen (who believes herself to be dying) wants to "come clean" and confess all the secrets they've been hiding for decades. Winnie tells her story starting in chapter 5 through to the end (with the exception of the very last chapter, which brings everything full circle back to 1980s San Francisco).

To me, this book was more grim and harder to get through than Tan's other works — which, in a way, isn't too surprising given its subject matter.  Though there are certainly light-hearted moments (especially in the "modern-day" sections of the story) and the fact that the story starts with Winnie telling her own story 40 years later (so we already know she survives all the hardship from her past) lightens things a little with the message of hope and resilience, but the events that happen in the past leave such an impression that I couldn't help feeling like a dark shadow had been cast and couldn't be lifted.  The character of Wen Fu (Winnie's husband in China) was so deplorable and despicable that after some point, I honestly didn't want to read about this god-awful person anymore (though of course I finished all the way through to the end).

Overall, I did like this one and would definitely recommend it (though trigger warnings abound), as Tan's writing is, as usual, wonderful. I've always admired Tan's style of writing — how she is able to synthesize everything she and/or her family experienced and combine it with the skills she learned (she majored in English and Linguistics in school) to manipulate language in a way that conveys cultural nuance and meaning. To this point, The Kitchen God's Wife is especially significant in that, not only does she pull out her entire literary toolkit (I actually did a deep dive analysis of Tan's writing but I won't get into that here), but she also employs meticulous research to weave lesser known historical elements into a story inspired by her mother's background — all of this combined has the effect of paying tribute to her mother and her own culture and background, while at the same time, educating readers on aspects of China's history.  Trigger warnings aside, this one is definitely well worth a read. 

Review: Sense and Sensibility (by Jane Austen)

My Rating:  5 stars

I know it's been awhile since I've posted a review.  This is mostly due to being busy with work and school, resulting in me falling behind on stuff.  I've definitely been continuing to read (quite a lot actually), but haven't been able to find the time to write reviews on everything I've read the past couple weeks. I'm aiming to catch up though, and hopefully I can get back to my previous consistency in terms of writing and posting about the books I've read (that's the goal at least).

So with that said, here's my first "catch-up" review.  I had mentioned a little while back ago that I'm currently taking a course on Jane Austen, which I'm elated about, as it has given me the excuse I needed to read/re-read all her works.  I finished Sense and Sensibility a few weeks ago and while this was technically a re-read for me, it was so long ago since I first read it that I honestly couldn't remember much from it.  Fortunately, as I started re-reading, things started coming back to me about the plot and the characters.  Of course, with this being Jane Austen, there's no doubt that I enjoyed reading this one — the writing was flawless as expected and the trademark wit and irony were there as well. But compared to my two all-time favorite Austen novels (Persuasion and Pride and Prejudice), one of the things that always bothered me about S&S was the dearth of likable characters (aka characters I felt like I could root for). 

While I didn't dislike Elinor and Marianne (the main heroines) per se, I also didn't really feel anything for them either.  Elinor came across as way too uptight for most of the story, plus I thought the way she was always so insistently devoted to Edward Ferrars (a man who didn't really have anything to recommend him, in my opinion) was bizarre (and frustrating). Marianne I felt was a bit too over-the-top at times with her behavior (which I know was part of the point of the story but still…) and we don't really get to see her true character come out, which I thought was a shame.  Edward was a nice guy, but as I mentioned earlier, he was kind of useless for most of the story. Colonel Brandon was probably the only one out of the main characters that I liked well enough to want to root for.  Outside of these 4 (and the villain character Willoughby), most of the other side characters were either mean, vain, selfish, arrogant, self-serving, crude, silly, stupid, or a combination thereof (Fanny Dashwood was the worst in my opinion: I'm still fuming about that conversation she has with her husband at the beginning of the novel…).

My annoyances with the characters aside, S&S is still a brilliantly written, complex novel with so many endlessly debatable topics (i.e.: the idea of each sister embodying sense versus sensibility or both attributes at once is something we could probably debate forever) — the complexity of the writing alone is well worth 5 stars.  Reading the novel in a group setting and getting the chance to analyze as well as discuss it has been wonderful, so I highly recommend that if possible.