Review: The Original Daughter (by Jemimah Wei)

My Rating: 3.5 stars

I debated for a long time how best to rate this book.  On the one hand, there were elements of the story that I really connected with – such as Genevieve’s struggle with coming into her own and finding herself in the face of a culture that emphasizes the bonds of family over individuality, as well as the conflicting feelings of resentment and love that forms the basis of Gen’s fraught relationship with her mother Su Yang.  I felt that the author, Jemimah Wei, did a great job capturing the angst as well as the difficulties that the characters faced in trying to convey their feelings – specifically, I was able to relate to the way Genevieve internalized her resentment toward her family, much of it stemming from the cultural reticence that influenced much of her upbringing.  Sharing a similar cultural background with both the author as well as the characters helped me feel emotionally invested in the story, to the point that several scenes actually had me close to tears due to how familiar the particular experience felt.

On the other hand however, I felt the story unfolded way too slowly, and the middle section especially dragged.  This is normally not a problem, but with a character like Genevieve – whom I felt was tolerable but not necessarily likeable – dwelling so much on her flaws made it more difficult, in my opinion at least, to feel prolonged empathy for her struggles.  Indeed, by the end of the story, my sympathy for Genevieve had turned into frustration and ultimately, irritation.  For a book that spans 350+ pages, to only focus primarily on one character’s thoughts and actions made the story feel way too long and drawn out.  Given the story’s heavy emphasis on complicated family dynamics, I think it would’ve been more interesting if we had gotten to hear the perspectives of the other family members – particularly Genevieve’s adopted sister Arin and her mother Su Yang – which also would’ve made the ending more poignant.  I’m usually able to finish a book of this length in 2-3 days, but this one took me more than a week to read, partly because whenever I had to put the book down to do other things, I didn’t always feel like picking it back up again. 

Overall, this turned out to be a mixed bag for me – some parts of it I really liked, other parts not as much.  A decent read, albeit one that requires a little bit of patience, especially at the midway mark.

Review: Homeseeking (by Karissa Chen)

My Rating: 5 stars

Karissa Chen’s debut Homeseeking is a novel that resonated deeply with me, to the point that I’m honestly not sure where to begin in terms of writing this review.  There is so much to unpack with this story, which is very aptly described as both simultaneously “epic” and “intimate” as it follows two childhood sweethearts across six decades and two continents. 

The narrative begins with the inciting incident that essentially triggers the rest of the events that occur: in 1947 Shanghai, amidst the Chinese civil war, Wang Haiwen decides to secretly enlist in the Nationalist army in order to save his brother, leaving behind not only his family, but also his girlfriend and soulmate Zhang Suchi – a decision that ends up changing the trajectories of both lives in profound ways.  The story then jumps to Los Angeles in 2008, where Haiwen and Suchi (now going by their American names “Howard” and “Sue”) are unexpectedly reunited when they bump into each other at the local 99 Ranch Market.  As the two reminisce about the past, it becomes clear that they have both endured and survived circumstances that changed them – whereas Haiwen continues to hold his memories close to his heart, Suchi insists on only looking forward and letting the past stay in the past. From there, the narrative weaves back and forth in time, tracing the path of both characters’ lives within the context of Chinese history (i.e.: WWII and the Japanese occupation, the Chinese civil war, the Great Famine and the Cultural Revolution, etc.) to reveal the circumstances that led up to that reunion.  Notably, the narrative not only alternates between both main characters’ points of view -- with Haiwen’s story moving backward in time, from the present to the past, while Suchi’s story moves forward from the past to the present, with both story arcs ultimately re-converging again in the present – it also follows them across continents, from Asia (Shanghai, Hong Kong, Taiwan) to North America (California and New York).  Throughout their separate (and at times very disparate) journeys and despite the many changes that their lives undergo, one thing that remains constant in in terms of Haiwen’s and Suchi’s relationship is the determination to never lose sight of the meaning of home (including their parents and the sacrifices they made), which they continue to keep in their hearts no matter where they end up.

There was actually so much I loved about this book – the beautiful writing, the poignant, moving story arc, the authentic portrayal of history and culture, the complex structure that was executed near flawlessly, the wonderful character development (I honestly did not want to let go of these characters even after I finished reading the book), just to name a few.  But what made this the ultimate reading experience for me was the fact that I was able to connect with the story on all levels, from the overarching themes to the minute details about the settings, language, culture, history, etc.

While on the surface, Homeseeking may appear to be a love story that highlights the enduring power of love to transcend time and place, I would argue that the story actually goes way deeper than that.  Yes, there are indeed elements of a love story – specifically about two star-crossed lovers who are fated to find their way back to each other (given the epigraph, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I found Haiwen and Suchi’s fated/fateful love relationship to be reminiscent of Shijun and Manzhen from Eileen Chang’s famous classic Half a Lifelong Romance) – but for someone like me who grew up as part of the Chinese diaspora in Los Angeles, I found special meaning in this story that went beyond the romance / love story elements. 

First, the setting – for the parts of the story that took place in Los Angeles, I loved seeing the mentions of so many places that I was familiar with – for example: Monterey Park and San Gabriel are usual haunts for most of us in the LA Chinese immigrant community (if you want the best authentic Chinese food in LA, those are the places to be) and of course, the 99 Ranch Market is as ubiquitous to us as H Mart is to the Korean community (I will admit that as I was reading, I did have one of those book nerd moments where I was tempted to research whether the 99 Ranch Market that Haiwen and Suchi meet at is the same one I frequent, LOL).  I also got a kick out of the scenes about encountering rush hour traffic on the freeways and the mentions of how long it takes to get from one place to another in LA (story of my life right there, haha).

In terms of setting though, Los Angeles wasn’t the only connection for me to the story.  I was born in Hong Kong, my mom is from Shanghai, and some of my relatives live in Taiwan, so those are all places that are more than familiar to me, whether from a history, culture, cuisine, language, geography, etc. aspect (it always elevates the reading experience when I’m able to recognize so many of the cultural, historical, etc. elements in a book). 

With that said, one of the biggest things that made this book such a meaningful read for me was the way that the author, Karissa Chen, handled the language aspect. Not only does Chen not directly translate many of the Chinese words and phrases in the book (with the exception of the few instances where she added notes in the back of the book for context), she also incorporates the local language and/or dialect based on the region that those scenes are set in.  For example, in the scenes set in Shanghai, the names as well as Chinese words and phrases are in Shanghainese (with some Mandarin depending on the situation), the scenes in Hong Kong are in Cantonese, the ones in Taiwan are in both Taiwanese and Mandarin. Even “Chinglish” was incorporated into some of the scenes set in Los Angeles! In her “Note on Languages” at the beginning of the book (which is an absolute must read in order to understand the structure of the story), Chen explains her approach in structuring the language in this manner as a way to faithfully represent both the different languages in Chinese-speaking communities as well as the lived experiences of those who have to navigate multiple languages on a daily basis:

“One of the challenges in writing an English-language story about the Chinese and Taiwanese diaspora is figuring out how to faithfully represent the different Sinitic languages spoken in different regions (and sometimes even within the same region). Because the Chinese written language uses a representational (versus phonetic) system, the same written word has many different pronunciations, depending on what language the speaker is using. This includes names. Given that my characters move within various Chinese-speaking regions of the world, I wanted to make sure to denote their code-switching in a way that would feel accurate. Therefore, each character may be referred to in a multitude of ways and may even broaden or change the way they think of themselves given a situation or over time. For this reason, chapters have not been labeled by character names, as our characters’ names evolve over time… For many people in the world, learning more than one language is a necessity, either because of migration or simply because the place they live in is a global one and survival dictates it. It is a skill that requires an ability to adapt and challenge oneself, and for many immigrants, it’s one of the most difficult, humbling, and uneasy parts of coming to a new country. If you, the reader, find yourself confused, I hope instead of giving up, you might take a moment to imagine what it must be like for those who have to navigate this on a daily basis, and then forge onward.”

I love and appreciate the fact that Chen not only pays such meticulous attention to language usage, but also makes a genuine effort to reflect our code-switching as well.  In my case, it so happens that all the Chinese languages and dialects used in the book (Mandarin, Cantonese, Shanghainese, Taiwanese, and yes, “Chinglish,” which was actually the language of my childhood) are also ones that I’m familiar with due to being amongst a community of family, friends, and relatives who speak one or more of these languages on a constant basis.  As an avid reader of English-language books about the Chinese diaspora, I can’t emphasize how rare it is to encounter a book that strives to represent the various Chinese-speaking regions in such a thoughtful and sincere way (though it’s not just the language – the historical and cultural elements are authentically represented as well). For me, this attentiveness to authenticity alone makes this an absolutely worthwhile read!

As this review is already quite long, I won’t go into every aspect of the book that made it such a personal and rewarding reading experience for me, but I have to mention one more thing:  this book made me cry genuine tears – not just because of the moving story (though yes, that definitely played a role), but because the familiarity and personal connections I felt to so many aspects of the story made me feel seen and understood in a way that no reading experience has made me feel in a very long time; to encounter books like this one is one reason why I read! 

Definitely pick this one up if you get a chance, as it’s a 5+ star read that’s well worth the time (especially highly recommended if you’re a fan of Eileen Chang’s works like I am).

 

Review: Rental House (by Weike Wang)

 

My Rating: 4.5 stars

A couple weeks ago, I had made a plan to take advantage of the vacation time I would have during the last two weeks of December to catch up on as many 2024 reads as possible. While I realize now in hindsight that this plan was a bit too ambitious given all the family obligations I had around the holidays, I’m glad I put in the effort because even though I won’t get through as much as I had planned, at least I’m making a decent dent to my TBR pile.
 

One of the books that I have been looking forward to reading ever since I found out about it is Rental House, Weike Wang’s third novel that she wrote during the pandemic. I loved her previous novel, Joan is Okay, which resonated with me deeply and was a 5-star read for me, so of course it’s no surprise that this new book was high on my list of must-reads.  I finally got around to reading the book this week and I’m definitely glad I did.  At only 213 pages, this slim novel is a quick read, but yet, one that also packs a punch.

 

In Rental House, Wang presents a marriage between two people from completely opposite ends of the cultural divide.  Keru was born in China, but immigrated to the United States with her parents as a child and despite having completely assimilated into American culture (including becoming a citizen through naturalization), she is still viewed as “foreign” by many people, including her own in-laws.  Keru’s parents, who are strict and demanding (as most immigrant Chinese parents are), expect perfection at every turn and believe that only through endless striving and struggle can immigrants such as themselves gain success in a country not of one’s origin. Nate is white and from a rural Appalachian, working-class family that distrusts intellect and striving as a means to get ahead and instead believes that those in a position of wealth (including the government) should be expected to help them out.  Despite being from two disparate cultures, Keru and Nate marry after college and instead of having kids, decide to raise a sheepdog whom they name Mantou (which means “steamed bun” in Chinese).  The book is divided into two parts, with part 1 being about a vacation in Cape Cod with Keru and Nate as well as both sets of in-laws (albeit separately – Keru’s parents visit first, then Nate’s parents), while part 2 takes place 5 years later, with Keru and Nate vacationing in the Catskills, this time without either set of in-laws (though their presence is still hugely felt despite not being there physically).  The story essentially chronicles the culture clash that ensues as Keru and Nate navigate a life together while simultaneously having to deal with the differences between their families.

 

As a Chinese American woman, I always feel seen whenever I read Weike Wang’s works – more than when I read other works by Chinese/Chinese American authors – probably because of how realistically she is able to portray the Chinese American experience in a modern-day setting.  I love how Wang captures the nuances of the Chinese American experience so perfectly and precisely every time – though in Rental House, the differences are more out in the open due to the juxtaposition of the two main characters who are from such disparate and opposite backgrounds. Given my own background, I especially resonated with Keru’s struggles: the pressure that her Chinese immigrant parents place on her to achieve success, with this success in turn being used as justification that her parents’ sacrifices were not in vain; the never-ending identity struggle that comes with being caught between two disparate cultures; constantly having to weigh the necessity of assimilation against the risk of losing her own cultural identity; and the nagging feeling that, even when she does everything right (works hard, gains prestige and wealth through a respected, high-paying job), it is somehow never going to be enough.  Most of all though, I resonated deeply with the way Keru behaves in the presence of her parents, especially her mother. Growing up with my background, I’ve found that one of the biggest things that my non-Asian friends have the hardest time understanding is the relationship dynamic between the Chinese mother and her children (sons to a certain extent but especially daughters).  In the face of relentless criticism from our Chinese mothers, the most common question that Chinese daughters such as myself get asked is why do we behave the way we do in front of our mothers and furthermore, why do we allow our mothers to treat us this way in the first place.  What those who ask this question fail to understand is that, for Chinese mothers, criticism (especially toward Chinese daughters) is their love language – it’s something so ingrained and such a natural element of the Chinese parent/child relationship that, when we’re in each other’s presence, we automatically slot into our roles without even realizing it.  Weike Wang is one of the few Chinese American authors I’ve read who is able to convey this dynamic so well on the page and I love her for it!

 

With all that said, my favorite novel of Wang’s is still Joan is Okay, but this newest one isn’t too far behind.  I will pretty much read anything Wang writes at this point, and I’m hoping her next novel won’t take too long to come out.

 

Also, one last thing I want to put out there: as those who are familiar with Weike Wang’s works probably know, her style is not for everyone.  She writes with a wry, ironic wit in a snarky, dead-pan style that is oftentimes misunderstood, perhaps because she is unapologetic about portraying her main protagonists in all their quirky, eccentric, realistically flawed glory, which may not work for all audiences.  Her books also tend to be heavily character-driven and not only lack a coherent plot, but also lean more toward “slice-of-life vignette” territory where parts of the story may feel abrupt or incomplete.  This kind of style may not work for all readers, so it’s important to keep this in mind when deciding whether to pick this one up.

Review: The Return of Ellie Black (by Emiko Jean)

 My Rating: 4 stars

This book came onto my radar because I had read Emiko Jean’s previous contemporary / romance novel Mika in Real Life and loved it.  If Jean’s name sounds familiar, that’s because she also wrote the popular YA series Tokyo Ever After.  Now with The Return of Ellie Black, Jean takes on the mystery / suspense / thriller genre through the case of Elizabeth Black, a missing girl who reappears out of the blue after disappearing without a trace two years ago from a town in Washington.  Ellie’s case is being handled by Detective Chelsey Calhoun, a small-town cop whose passion for solving missing person cases stems from her own sister’s disappearance 20 years ago.  Chelsey sets about investigating what happened to Ellie, but the task proves to be more difficult than anticipated due to Ellie’s refusal to cooperate.  When links to other missing girls start to surface -- some of whom, like Ellie, might still be alive – the urgency to solve the case reaches fever pitch.  But with Ellie not cooperating, will Chelsey crack the case in time to prevent other girls from being taken as well?

This is a story that surprised me in many ways.  First (and most important) is the fact that this is definitely NOT another one of those run-of-the-mill thrillers with a helpless (and usually stereotypically drawn) female protagonist at its center who is eventually saved by some guy in uniform (and maybe they live happily ever after if a romantic attraction is thrown in there somewhere).  Instead, this story deals with many real-life issues that we continue to face in our society on a daily basis -- toxic relationships, discrimination of all types (i.e. race, gender, class), misogyny, racism, dysfunctional families, police corruption, class distinctions (i.e. rich versus poor), etc. – in a way that gave the story depth (which meant that, at times, I forgot that I was reading a thriller).  The narrative alternates between the third person perspective (where we get to “hear from” various characters in the story, though mostly from Chelsey) interspersed with a first person “confession” of sorts from Ellie herself, where she recounts in detail everything that happened to her.  For me, this type of narrative (alternating between different voices) can be a bit of a hit or miss, but in this instance, it was done in a way that made sense and also didn’t feel jarring.  In terms of the plot, this one was particularly well done in the sense that I was truly kept at edge of my seat and most significantly, I actually didn’t see any of the twists and turns coming.  I mention this because I’ve read my fair share of mysteries / thrillers over the years where I’m usually able to figure everything out by the halfway point, but that was definitely not the case here – I was genuinely surprised by how things turned out, not to mention all my guesses ended up being wrong (not a bad thing at all when it comes to thrillers). 

Having said all that though, what I loved most about this book was the main protagonist (Detective Chelsey Calhoun).  It’s not lost on me how rare it is to have the main character of a mainstream mystery (thriller/suspense) novel be a strong, smart, competent, kick-ass, no nonsense cop who is both female and Asian (full Japanese, not mixed race).  And yes, it is Chelsey (as the lead detective on the case) who “saves the day” throughout the story, including at the end (I’m proud to admit that I cheered each time Chelsey triumphed, lol).  Most importantly though, Chelsey came across as a real-life person – someone who has her own vulnerabilities and insecurities (especially in her personal relationships) while also having to deal with the realities that come with being female and Asian in a cut-throat profession where she has to fight like hell to prove herself every step of the way.

Emiko Jean is an author whom I’m glad to have discovered and whose backlist I’m happy to explore.  I admire authors who are able to write across multiple genres and so far, based on what I’ve read of her work, Jean seems to have talent in this area.  I hope to read more of her work soon.

Received ARC from Simon & Schuster via NetGalley.

 

Review: The Twilight Garden (by Sara Nisha Adams)

My Rating: 4 stars

I had read Sara Nisha Adams's debut novel The Reading List for book club over a year ago and really enjoyed it.  During the author talk for that book, Adams mentioned that her next book would be about a community with a shared garden, which of course, turned out to be this book, her sophomore novel entitled The Twilight Garden. While I have to admit that I enjoyed her debut much more, I still found quite a few things that I liked with this new book, with the first and foremost of those being the characters.  I couldn't help loving the entire Stoke Newington community and all its interesting residents — it felt like it would be a dream to live among them and to be able to share in such a beautiful garden (though minus the foxes please).

Told in somewhat of a dual timeline format (though also divided into 4 parts based on the seasons), the story alternates between the perspectives of Winston and Bernice starting in 2018 — the neighbors live in Numbers 77 and 79 in a townhouse complex on Eastbourne Road (in Stoke Newington, London).  The two houses have a garden that is shared among them (a non-negotiable written into the housing contract).  The garden is in a state of disrepair after being neglected for years, which might as well be fine since the two neighbors can't seem to get along anyway and are constantly arguing with each other.  Winston is an immigrant from India who came to London hoping to fulfill his parents' dream for him to be successful and happy, but instead, he quit his steady job in finance and works instead for his neighbors Sal and Angela in their shop (though they treat him lovingly, like their own son); on top of that, Winston's relationship with his partner Lewis is on shaky ground.  At the same time, he is forced to deal with his bossy new neighbor, Bernice, who just moved into the house next door with her 10 year old son Sebastian, finally on her own after separating from her ex-husband Simon.  The two neighbors seem to be at odds from the start, arguing over everything under sun, but especially over the shared garden;  one day, when Bernice tells Winston off and tries to claim the garden for herself, he decides to start clearing the garden and tending to it out of defiance.  Bernice's son Seb slowly gets to know Winston and soon enough, he is helping his new friend in the garden (much to Bernice's chagrin).  Over the course of a couple months, as Bernice joins her son in helping out with the garden, she begins to understand Winston better and they eventually become friends. Interspersed throughout the Winston-Bernice storyline is a narrative that flashes back to 40 plus years prior, starting in the 1970s, with the story of Maya and Alma, who were the previous residents of Numbers 77 and 79. Maya and her husband Prem are also of Indian descent, but arrived to London from Kenya, where most of their family still reside.  Alma is an interesting character — someone whom all the residents love and fear at the same time. Maya and Alma — two women with such opposite personalities (and also from vastly different backgrounds) become fast friends and even turn their shared garden into a community garden where all their friends and neighbors frequently gathered.  One of the things I really appreciated about this structure was how some of the characters ended up appearing in both narratives, which meant that we got to see them evolve and grow — as a reader who loves character-driven stories, I'm always game for watching characters develop and evolve throughout a story (even though this one was done nonlinearly).

This heartwarming read about friendship and community also had a poignancy to it that I wasn't quite expecting — to the point that I found myself feeling a lump in my throat at certain parts.  Though perhaps I should not have been surprised, given that the overall tone of this second novel is in a similar vein to The Reading List (which was especially poignant and moving).  While this is a book I definitely recommend, I do have to warn that it is very much a "slow-burn" type of story where there is not much of a plot to speak of and nothing "exciting" (depending on one's definition of course) ever really happens.  And those who aren't into gardening might find the detailed descriptions of various plants and flowers and gardening activities a tad less interesting (though thankfully, Adams incorporated these details in a way that wasn't overwhelming).  

Overall, I enjoyed this one for what it was — a moving, emotionally resonant story with endearing, lovable characters (no villains in this story, which is refreshing…oh except maybe the foxes?)  doing everyday things and dealing with everyday issues.  The narrative does meander a bit though, especially in the middle section (the book overall probably didn't need to be as long as it was), but luckily it didn't lose me. I'm definitely looking forward to what Sara Nisha Adams writes next!

Received ARC from William Morrow via NetGalley.

Review: Real Americans (by Rachel Khong)

My Rating: 4.5 stars

I just finished a major project for class, so I'm hoping to have some time for catching up on my leisure reading over the next couple weeks. I decided to pick up Rachel Khong's Real Americans next because of an author talk I plan to attend (which I'm very much looking forward to!).  

I will start off by saying that, admittedly, this was one of those books that I found a little bit hard to parse at times, mostly because of the "science" element — which, even though it remains largely in the background throughout most of the story, it does play a pretty significant role in advancing parts of the plot. That said however, I feel that the way Khong structured the story is brilliant — there are 3 parts to the story, each told from the first person perspective of 3 different characters: Lily in 1999, Nick in 2021, and Mei in 2030. All 3 voices felt distinct to me, which is an admirable feat, no doubt, given how different it is to pull off.  The first part of the story, told from Lily's perspective, reads like a romance, as it is the love story of how Lily — the daughter of Chinese immigrants who struggles to make sense of her life working a dead-end job that she's not even getting paid for — meets Matthew, the rich heir of a pharmaceutical conglomerate -a and how they ultimately fall in love and start a family together.  Part 2 fast forwards 22 years later — Lily and Matthew are separated and Lily is raising their son Nick, who is 15 years old, alone in a remote part of Washington.  Told from Nick's perspective, this part feels like a coming of age story, as Nick (who, though biracial, looks more like his father than his mother) struggles to come to terms with his own identity as well as that of his estranged father, whom his mother refuses to tell him anything about.  Part 3 takes place 9 years later, in 2030, but actually provides the backstory that explains many of the things that happened in parts 1 and 2.  This last section (which reads like historical fiction) is told from the perspective of Lily's mother Mei, as she recounts what her life was like growing up in China in the 1960s, at the height of the country's Cultural Revolution, and how she ended up fleeing to America.  What I found interesting about this structure is that all 3 parts, at times, read like 3 different stories (albeit with the same characters), and interestingly enough, the 3 timelines never truly converge like most multiple timeline stories do, yet the overarching story as a whole never felt disjointed.  As I was reading, I was continually engaged with the story, even though oftentimes, not a whole lot was actually happening plot-wise.  All the characters in here were also well-drawn, realistic, and relatable — especially the 3 characters who narrate the story.  

Another interesting thing to note with this story is that it's not one of those stories that ties everything up neatly (and not just the ending). There are gaps in all 3 timelines that are never fully explained, yet the story still feels complete somehow (not sure how to explain this properly but I think those who've read this will know what I mean).  

Overall, this was an engrossing read that I absolutely recommend.  The story itself is definitely the slow burn type — quiet, subtle, and rarely makes any major waves — yet it also never felt boring to me (case in point, I read this in 2 days because I couldn't bring myself to put it down).  Part of this was due to Khong's writing, which the blurb to the book already describes perfectly as "moving" and "immersive."  I haven't yet read Khong's debut novel Goodbye, Vitamin, but given how much I enjoyed this new one, I will definitely have to go back and read that one.

Received ARC from Knopf via NetGalley. 

Review: The Storm We Made (by Vanessa Chan)

My Rating:  4 stars

First of all, let me just say that this book definitely did not read like a debut to me.  The writing flowed beautifully, the characters were fully fleshed out and developed, and the historical as well as cultural details were meticulously rendered to the point that I felt completely immersed and transported to the time and place of the story (Japanese-occupied Malaya during WWII).  One of the things I love about historical fiction is its ability to bring awareness to events / people / situations, etc., in history through the means of an engaging story, with the best ones often triggering a desire to read up on the subject matter more after finishing the book itself. In this case, even though I was already familiar with the Japanese occupation of various Asian countries during WWII (given my Chinese background, I grew up hearing endless stories about the antagonism between China and Japan during that time), I still felt compelled to read more about the events mentioned in the book (specifically, the Japanese invasion and occupation of Malaysia from 1941 to 1945).  In her author letter, Vanessa Chan mentions her inspiration for the book being from her grandparents, who were initially reluctant to talk about those Occupation years, but ultimately relented and provided her with the many insights into how they survived that time period, many details of which she eventually incorporated into her story.

The angle that Chan ended up taking with this story — having it revolve around a wife and mother in British-colonized Malaya who provides intelligence to a Japanese general that ultimately ushers in a brutal occupation — was an interesting and unique one.  When the story opens in February 1945, Cecily's family is in a bad spot: her husband Gordon, formerly a high-ranking bureaucrat in the British-run colonial government, has been reduced to doing physical labor at a sheet-metal factory; her teenage son Abel has just disappeared, following the fate of other boys in the town who were kidnapped to a camp guarded by Japanese soldiers; her youngest daughter Jasmin has to hide in the basement all day to avoid being recruited into service at the comfort stations; and her eldest daughter Jujube is pushed to the brink of madness trying to protect her little sister while also attempting to maintain order in the household. Seeing her family coming apart at the seams, Cecily understands that this is all her doing — we are then taken back to 10 years earlier, where we get Cecily's backstory and how she came to meet the man who would change her life forever:  Shigeru Fujiwara, a charismatic Japanese general who convinces Cecily to work with him to achieve the goal of "Asia for Asians" by overthrowing the British colonial government in Malaya.  Their efforts prove successful and the Japanese invade a few years later.  Unfortunately, the Japanese occupiers turn out to be cruel and callous, killing "more people in three years than the British colonizers had in fifty."  The rest of the story alternates between these two time periods as well as between the perspectives of Cecily and her three children, with the timelines eventually merging as the war comes to an end and we see the impact of Cecily's actions on both her family as well as on the community at large.

This was one of those books that I almost finished in one sitting, as the story was so compelling that I found myself unable to stop turning the pages.  With that said however, this was also a difficult and exhausting read due to the heavy subject matter — while this was expected given the premise going into it, what I didn't expect was the emotional depth of the characters, who were each written in ways that made it hard not to feel for them in some capacity, despite their actions.  As I was reading, I was honestly preparing myself to hate both Fujiwara and Cecily, but when I got to the end, well, let's just say that I had to rethink my feelings about them (and I'm still thinking about it, even now).

One of the things that also struck me about this book was how much I resonated with certain aspects of it — not the parts about espionage or the war of course, but rather the complexity of the feelings and circumstances that inform some of the characters' decisions. I think this complexity is best described by Chan herself in her author's note where she states:  "I wrote about inherited pain, womanhood, mothers, daughters, and sisters, and how the choices we make reverberate through the generations of our families and communities in ways we often can't predict. I wrote about carrying the legacy of colonization in your body, about being drawn to a toxic man, about complicated friendships, about living a life in fragments, about the ambiguity of right and wrong when survival is at stake."  Indeed, I can relate to nearly all of these things due to having encountered them in some form in my own life.  Perhaps this is also why I was able to empathize with many of the characters, even the unlikable ones who made the worst of decisions — with Cecily specifically, her actions were inexcusable and unforgivable of course, but she also paid the ultimate price for what she did…whether what she endured was punishment enough, that will be for each reader to determine.

Received ARC from Marysue Rucci Books via NetGalley.

Review: River East, River West (by Aube Rey Lescure)

 

My Rating: 4 stars

When I finished reading this book, my first thought was that this was an interesting read and very different from what I initially expected going into it (my second thought was: This is a debut?  It certainly didn’t read like one!).  Given my background, I naturally gravitate toward immigrant stories (especially the ones involving immigrants from Asian countries to Western ones), where I know I will encounter experiences similar to my own – so when I read the summary for this one and saw that it would be a reversal of the traditional east-to-west immigrant story, I was definitely intrigued.  Though having said that, I will admit I was also a bit concerned, as I associate “west-to-east immigrant narrative” with “story about the expatriate community in Asia” – as someone who came from a place with a long history of colonialism (the former British colony of Hong Kong), I am more than familiar with how the expat community operates and to be honest, it’s one of my least favorite things to read about (I guess you can say that I’m sick of picking up a book about an Asian country expecting to read about the local community and culture, only to find out it’s actually about expat shenanigans told from an expat perspective, with very little about the culture of the country itself).  Add to that the fact that I’m also not a fan of “rich people behaving badly” stories (which is what many expat stories essentially boil down to), so of course, I was quite weary going into this one and was bracing myself for a potentially unpleasant reading experience.  While there did indeed end up being quite a bit of “unpleasantness” in the story (those who’ve read this book will know what I mean), I was actually surprised by how different this one turned out from the typical expat stories that tend to glamorize the expat lifestyle.  In her podcast interview with Books & Boba, the author Aube Rey Lescure talked at length about her inspiration for this book (I absolutely recommend listening to the interview after reading the book, as she provides some great insights and I actually appreciate the book a lot more than I would have otherwise) – one of the things she said that struck a chord with me is that she wrote this book not as a glamorization of the expat lifestyle, but rather, as an “anti-expat takedown” of sorts, highlighting the impact that the presence of these expats, with their indifference and condescension (and excessive, indulgent, high-riding lifestyles), had on the local Chinese community.  Thinking back through the story after hearing Lescure say this, I see now that was the same sense I had gotten while reading this one, which is probably why I was able to appreciate this story more than other expat stories I’ve read.

In her interview, Lescure describes her book as a coming of age / family drama / social novel set in China, which is definitely an apt description.  In her discussion with the hosts about this being an inversion of the usual east-to-west immigrant story, Lescure said that she couldn’t write the typical China to America immigrant story because that wasn’t her experience.  Instead of being a story about Chinese immigrants in America, this one revolves around an American expat Sloan raising her biracial daughter Alva in modern-day (2007-2008 time period) Shanghai, China.  Lescure said that her mother (who is French) separated with her father (who is Chinese) and raised her as a single mom in Shanghai – she went to the local Chinese public school for 8 years, then transferred to what she called a “budget” version of the international school for 2 years; significantly, her mother was a “renegade” who didn’t want to be part of the expat community, so their lifestyle was an unrooted one where they spent much of her childhood moving across Shanghai, renting one apartment after another.  Throughout the story, Lescure included many cultural details and nuances to capture what her experience of growing up in Shanghai as a biracial teenager was like – she especially wanted to capture the granularity of her Chinese school experience and show how different it was from the international schools that the expat kids went to (fun Easter egg for those who’ve read the book:  Lescure said that the test question scenario was from real life – she had answered that exact question the same way and got marked wrong…it was a moment of revelation for her about the education system in China).  Something that Lescure did clarify was that even though certain elements of the story were based on her own experience, the sections about the expat community and lifestyle she actually did not experience, as those were based on what she heard from people she knew. 

One of the things that stood out with this story is the way Lescure juxtaposed the two entirely different worlds – the nuances of the local Chinese community in which she grew up versus the glitz and glamor of the expat community – presenting both realistically to the point that it felt immersive.  At the same time, she also interweaves the story of Lu Fang, the Chinese businessman whom Alva’s mom Sloan marries at the beginning of the story – the dual timeline narrative alternates between Alva’s perspective in the present (2007-2008) and Lu Fang’s perspective starting in 1985 and spanning decades, with both timelines ultimately converging in the present, in a way that I honestly did not see coming.  In a sense, this story isn’t just about Alva’s coming of age, but also of Lu Fang’s, which I felt was an interesting way of structuring the story.  I’ve mentioned in other reviews that with immigrant stories, we oftentimes get to hear from the immigrant child’s perspective, but rarely from the adults / parents’ perspectives, so I appreciated that with this story, Lescure chose to go in a different direction and give us Lu Fang’s story as well.  For me, this added emotional depth to the story, especially at the end, when we find out some of the things that happened to Lu Fang and the impact this has on his relationship with Sloan and Alva. 

Overall, this was a worthwhile read, though some parts will not only be difficult to stomach, but will also tick some people off (I certainly felt angry and frustrated with some of the things that happen) – of course, this means that there will be trigger warnings galore.  Also, the characters aren’t too likable in here – the kids I could empathize with, but the adults (specifically the parents) I honestly could not stand (except for maybe Lu Fang at certain points in the story).  Although with that said, after hearing Lescure describe her purpose for writing the characters the way she did and what she was trying to achieve by doing so, it did make me dislike them a little less.

The unlikable characters and some of the plot points aside though, another aspect of this book that I really enjoyed were the various cultural references (especially the Chinese ones), as well as the untranslated Chinese characters and phrases sprinkled throughout the story.  In her interview, Lescure talks about this and mentions that the meanings of most of the Chinese words can be picked up from context (this is true, as majority of the Chinese was either translated or explained), but there are a few instances where only readers who know the Chinese language will pick up on (like the scene near the end with the Chinese poem, which was actually my favorite scene from the story).  I always enjoy coming across things I recognize in books that I read – it makes the reading experience more fun and engaging (and the difficult aspects a tad more tolerable).

If you decide to pick this one up, I definitely recommend also listening to the author’s Books & Boba interview, as it puts the entire book in greater perspective.  Like I mentioned earlier, I came to appreciate the book on a much different level than I would have otherwise.

Received ARC from William Morrow via NetGalley.

 

Review: Daughters of Shandong (by Eve J. Chung)

My Rating:  5 stars

This incredible debut by Taiwanese-American lawyer Eve J. Chung doesn't come out until May 2024, but I was able to get an advance copy and boy am I glad I did.  Inspired by her family's history, Chung weaves the fictional story of Li-Hai, the eldest of four daughters from the Ang family, wealthy landowners in the small rural town of Zhucheng in Shandong, China. The year is 1948 and even though World War II has officially ended, China is caught up in its own civil war between the current ruling party, the Nationalists under Chiang Kai-shek and the Communists led by Mao Zedong.  In a country still steeped in the Confucian ideal of "zhong nan qing nu" ("value men, belittle women"), Hai's mother Chiang-Yue is treated worse than a servant in the Ang household due to her inability to produce a male heir (to say that Yue is "mistreated" is an understatement —  in addition to suffering constant physical and verbal abuse at the hands of her mother-in-law, her husband also neglects her and never speaks up for her).  In the eyes of the Ang elders, Hai and her sisters, being daughters, are considered "disappointments" and "useless mouths to feed" (their grandmother Nai Nai has no qualms about telling them to their faces that they are better off dead  so the family doesn't have to waste money on them anymore) — which is why, when the Communist army invades the town and the family is forced to flee, they decide to leave mother and daughters behind.  Abandoned and left to fend for themselves, Yue and her daughters become destitute and penniless after the Communists seize their home and kick them out.  Worse yet, in the absence of any Ang family males, Hai, as the eldest daughter at 13 years old, is chosen to answer for her father's and grandfather's "crimes" and is subsequently tortured to near death.  With the help of former workers whom Yue had always treated kindly, mother and daughters escape to the city of Qingdao, where they hoped to reunited with the rest of the family. They survive the arduous journey to Qingdao, only to find out that the family actually relocated to Taiwan (where Chiang Kai-shek re-established the Nationalist base after fleeing China).  Abandoned once again, the Ang women figure out a way to overcome the many obstacles they face, including  enduring a thousand mile journey to Hong Kong and eventually finding their family in Taiwan.  

The story is narrated in the first person from Hai's perspective, which was the perfect narrative structure in this case because it made the experience more immersive and personal.  In her Author's Note (which is not to be missed), Chung explains the inspiration for the story, which was originally going to be a biography of sorts about her maternal grandmother, whom she had stayed with in Taiwan as a child.  But after her grandmother died, she realized there were too many gaps in her grandmother's life that she knew nothing about and regrettably had never asked, so she pivoted to turning the family history she was planning to write into a fictional story using the notes and interviews that she and her mother had already gathered.  Basing the character of Hai on her maternal grandmother, Chung was able to fill in the gaps of her own family history, but more than that, for us readers, she delivered a beautifully-written story about a family of women who survive devastating heartbreak and hardship to resiliently rise above the entrenched cultural norms that bind them to inferiority within their society. 

As a Chinese daughter myself, I resonated deeply with Hai and many of the struggles she went through in trying to reconcile her identity with her culture.  While I didn't share all of the experiences she went through, I did grow up under the same Chinese culture, so I was familiar with many of the antiquated traditions as well as the historical context in the story. Even with this familiarity, I have to admit that many of the scenes involving Hai's POS (pardon my French) father and grandmother and their horrible treatment of the mothers and daughters in the family were hard to read. With that said though, this is actually where Chung's story stands out from many of the other historical novels that revolve around Chinese culture and tradition — I appreciated the way that she succinctly and clearly lays out the facts of how women were treated during that time without mincing words.  More than any other novel I've read in recent years (specifically ones written in contemporary times), this one does a great job exploring the internal battle that many of the women who grow up in these restrictive cultures face — despite understanding the injustices they suffer, they've internalized what they've been taught to the extent that it not only becomes a "normal" part of who they are, they also oftentimes end up perpetuating these same injustices (whether intentionally or unintentionally) onto future generations. To this point, there were many thought-provoking quotes throughout the book (which I of course marked up), but the following excerpt stood out to me the most.  In this scene, Hai (as an adult now) gets into an argument with her mother, who finally, after many years, gives birth to a son, Ming, to carry on the Ang family name (though ironically, this doesn't alleviate the poor treatment that the mother continues to endure because the mother-in-law is already used to abusing her); Hai sees her mother giving her baby brother Ming a bottle of milk while she only gives her other daughter Hua (who was born right before Ming) a bottle of rice water — Hai is livid that her mother would continue to perpetuate the "preferential treatment of boys over girls" tradition after everything they suffered the past couple years precisely because they weren't sons:  "…Mom began to weep. "Hai, Ming is the only one who will support us when we are old. The only one who can care for us in the afterlife. I love Hua and all my other daughters, but I have a duty, as a wife, to make sure Ming grows up well. When you have your own son, you will understand." She cried because she thought I was judging her unfairly, without realizing that her words had cut me deep. Mom hadn't said it explicitly, but I heard it loud and clear: All of us girls were worth less than Ming. She loved us less than Ming. Yet Mom was confused by my anger, and oblivious to my pain. To her, the ancient traditions centering the son were our pillar, entwined in our religion, inseparable from our existence on this earth. Telling her I was hurt would be like saying I was offended by the typhoon that tore through Mount Davis. In her mind, these injustices were part of being a woman, and bearing them was simply our fate. Men made the rules in our society, but women often enforced them. Was there something about having a son that transformed us? Was that why Nai Nai was so wretched? Was that going to be me as a mother? I didn't want it to be. After what I had been through, how could I fall into that same pattern?" Arriving at this understanding becomes tremendously important for the characters in the story, which I won't get into here (you will need to read this one to find out more).

Needless to say, this is a book I highly recommend, but with the understanding that it definitely won't be an easy read.  As with most stories about the travesties of war, this one has brutal scenes as it follows the harrowing journey of the Ang women through several generations, but the payoff at the end is well worth the read.  This story (and its characters) is not one that I will forget anytime soon!

Received ARC from Berkley / Penguin Random House via BookBrowse First Impressions program.