Review: Taipei Story (by R.F. Kuang)

My Rating: 4 stars 

I’m recovering from an ear infection this past week that affected my ability to concentrate, so I haven’t been able to get as much reading done as I had hoped.  I’ve been able to plow through, but it will probably be slow-going for a couple more weeks, which unfortunately doesn’t bode well for my ginormous fall reading list (especially given the fact that I’m also a bit behind on my summer reading too and have been trying to catch up).  That said, I am determined to get through all the 2026 books I’ve been planning to read, since I want a clean slate as much as possible going into 2027 given the number of anticipated releases I already have lined up (I’m sure fellow bookworms can relate).

Anyway, working my way (slowly) through my fall TBR, I decided to start with one of this season’s most anticipated releases, R.F. Kuang’s Taipei Story.  Kuang’s newest work is a bit of a departure for her genre-wise, as she goes the straight up literary fiction route this time around (as opposed to her previous works which leaned more toward fantasy, dark academia, and literary satire), and while I did enjoy this one more than the other works of hers that I’ve read (Yellowface and Katabasis, specifically), it didn’t blow me away in the way that I was expecting it to.  This is an important point to make in this case because for me personally, out of all of Kuang’s works, Taipei Story is the one most in my wheelhouse – from a genre perspective, literary fiction is one of my favorite genres to read, and from a subject matter perspective, my Chinese background means that I am intimately familiar with the language and culture elements that form the crux of the story.  Most of all though, I also share a background with the story’s protagonist Lily Chen, being from an immigrant family and part of the Chinese diaspora, who grew up speaking mostly English in everyday life and Chinese only with my family while learning the mechanics of the language (Mandarin, that is) mostly through school.  To this point, I could absolutely relate to Lily’s struggles with learning Chinese, as I had similar experiences during my own undergraduate education pursuing a degree in Asian Studies.  Indeed, the scenes involving Lily’s one-on-one class with Teacher Sun reminded me of the independent study class I took during that time, which was taught by one of the university’s esteemed Chinese literature professors.  I remember the feelings of anxiety when, for my final project in the class, I had to write a critical analysis essay on Su Tong’s classic novel Raise the Red Lantern entirely in Chinese – a feat made even more difficult given the fact that computer-based foreign language typing applications were not common back then, so I actually had to write the entire essay out by hand (though I guess the silver lining is that I was able to get plenty of practice writing Chinese characters).  Having to endure my own “sea of red” for many of the assignments in that class, I could definitely understand Lily’s feelings of frustration and inadequacy in those instances.

When I read a book where there are so many aspects that I’m familiar with (i.e. the language, culture, history, etc.), it usually enhances the reading experience for me.  In this instance, Kuang packed her novel not just with tons of language-related and historical elements that I was already familiar with, she also incorporated a lot of film, literature, food, and pop culture references that I also recognized.  Yet, oddly enough, while reading this book, I didn’t feel particularly connected to either the story or the characters. Now that I think about it, this seems to be a common problem I have with Kuang’s books – regardless of how much certain elements of the story seem to resonate with me (familiarity with the subject matter and/or cultural elements, a shared background with the main character, etc.), I always feel a bit of an emotional distance with her works that makes it difficult to connect or engage at a level that would make the read 5 stars for me.  I am not able to pinpoint exactly what the issue is; as I mention in my previous reviews of Kuang’s works, she is obviously a skillful, intelligent writer – but perhaps that is precisely the problem:  I think sometimes Kuang’s highly impressive academic pedigree (undergraduate studies at Georgetown, master’s degree from Cambridge, another master’s degree from Oxford, currently working on a PhD at Yale) ends up getting in the way of her stories, albeit unintentionally.  With Taipei Story, there were large swaths of the book that, to me at least, seemed to contain “information dumps” which felt irrelevant to the story – in turn, these “information dumps” were often relayed in a matter-of-fact manner that made me feel like I was reading an excerpt from an academic essay or a textbook.  Of course, there is nothing wrong with showing off what you know (it IS one of the golden rules of writing, after all, to “write what you know”), especially if you’ve put in the effort to do the copious amounts of research (which Kuang obviously does with every book) to back up that knowledge, but I think the less-than-seamless way that knowledge (research) is incorporated into the story can, in some instances, have an unintended negative effect on the story (at least for this reader it did).

Overall, I would have to say that this was definitely an enjoyable read that I liked well enough (I mean, I did give it 4 stars when both Yellowface and Katabasis got 3.5 stars and 3 stars, respectively), but I didn’t “love” it like I initially thought I would.  That said, I definitely continue to be interested in reading Kuang’s works – though perhaps knowing that her books usually take a little more time for me to complete, I should plan better in the future and wait to tackle them during a time when I’m under less pressure to get through a ridiculously long TBR list

Received ARC from William Morrow via NetGalley.

Review: Before You Were Anne (by Emiko Jean)

My Rating: 4 stars 

This is the sequel to Emiko Jean’s bestselling mystery / thriller / suspense novel The Return of Ellie Black, which I read when it came out back in 2024 not knowing that it was the start of a series.  In that book, we were introduced to Detective Chelsey Calhoun, a small-town cop from Washington State with a passion for solving missing person cases due to her own personal experience with her sister’s disappearance many years ago.  As I mentioned in my review of that book, I absolutely loved the fact that the main protagonist Chelsey is a strong, smart, competent, no-nonsense cop who holds her own time and time again in a cut-throat profession that is not always kind to a woman of color like herself.  I mean, how often do we see an Asian female as a kick-ass lead detective (in a mainstream mystery/thriller) who is the one doing the heroic work of saving lives rather than merely being a sidekick (often to a male detective who is usually the “hero” of the story).  Given how much I loved Chelsey as a character, I was of course thrilled to be able to read more about her in Jean’s newest release, Before You Were Anne, even though I will admit that I was caught a bit off guard because I thought Ellie Black was a stand-alone novel and had no idea it was the start of a series until recently.  When it comes to series, especially ones with the same characters that continue the previous book’s storyline, I usually prefer to read the books back-to-back one right after the other rather than spread out over long periods of time because I have a bad memory and especially can’t remember details unless it’s fresh in my mind.  In this case, since I last read Ellie Black 2 years ago, I would’ve liked to re-read it before picking up the sequel, but given all the other books I have on my list to get through (this has been a phenomenal year for books, to the point that I’m still working my way through a ginormous summer and fall reading list that I’m determined to finish before the year is over), of course this was not possible.  Regardless though, I still enjoyed being reunited with Chelsey, who is now married and expecting her first child with husband Noah.  Chelsey has moved on from the small-town of Coldwell and is now a lead detective in the Seattle police department, partnering up with Detective Montoya whom she met while working the Ellie Black case.  As the Japanese daughter of white parents who adopted her when she was a baby, Chelsey’s struggles with her identity run deep, but now that she is expecting a daughter of her own, understanding her past and where she came from is even more critical for her.  So when she and Montoya are assigned a new case involving a murdered Japanese woman named Rika Takahashi (who went by the alias Anne Walker) and her missing sixteen-year-old daughter Naomi, it hits a little too close to home for Chelsey, who becomes more invested in the case than she bargained for.

I don’t want to give too much away, since it’s important to go into this one knowing as little as possible, so I’ll keep the details brief.  Overall though, I felt this sequel was very well done and I enjoyed it as much as I did the first book.  I especially appreciate the nuanced way that Jean continues to portray Chelsey – while she is still the kick-ass cop from the first book, we also get to see the vulnerable side of her, specifically in her relationship with her family, which is somewhat strained due to some things that happened in the first book as well as the circumstances around her adoption, which are finally brought to light in this book.  I also really like the way Chelsey’s partnership with Montoya was built on mutual respect and admiration for each other’s abilities, but most importantly, how they are portrayed as equals who trust each other and work well together as a cohesive unit.  This was especially refreshing because the default with stories like this that feature a male/female cop partnership usually involves some type of romantic entanglement trope or some form of insurmountable tension / conflict stemming from gender disparity.

Emiko Jean is quickly becoming a favorite author for me, as I’ve read three of her books so far and enjoyed all of them.  In exploring her backlist, it’s obvious to me that Jean has range as an author, as she writes across multiple genres – from YA to fantasy to romance and now mystery/thriller/suspense.  While I’m most interested in her mystery/thriller series, I also read her stand-alone romance Mika in Real Life, which I also loved, so I’m keen on trying her other books as well, which should hold me over until the next installment of the Chelsey Calhoun series comes out (based on how the sequel ended, I’m pretty sure there will be more books) – I just hope I won’t have to wait too long for it!

Received ARC from Simon and Schuster via NetGalley.

Review: The Seekers of Deer Creek (by Thao Thai)

My Rating: 4.5 stars

After reading and loving Thao Thai’s debut novel Banyan Moon when it came out in 2023, I’ve been excitedly waiting for her next book, which finally arrived last month with The Seekers of Deer Creek. Thai’s sophomore effort is just as beautifully written as her debut, with so many profound moments that not only resonated with me, but also were sources of thought and reflection that continued to linger long after I finished the book.  Banyan Moon was a family saga about mother / daughter relationships and the complicated cultural dynamics that can inform these relationships in ways both positive and negative.  This time around, with Seekers, Thai centers her story around the Nguyen sisters, Vivi and Calla, and the complexities of a sibling relationship that is strained and emotionally fraught, yet also deeply loving.  The two sisters couldn’t be more different: Vivi is practical and sensible, the protector and “responsible” one whose job it is to constantly rein in her free-spirited and “frenetic” younger sister Calla who can be reckless and unpredictable to the point of worry. Yet both sisters share more in common than they think, especially in their struggles with addiction (both literal and figurative) and surviving a tumultuous childhood that ended up having a huge impact on both of them, though in different ways.  After the death of their father, Calla finds a letter and sketch in his home that is eerily similar to a painting created by reclusive Vietnamese artist K.P. Ly. -- the letter mentions an “offering,” which Calla believes is meant for their family.  She brings this discovery to Vivi in the hopes that she will accompany her on a search for this supposed relic from the past and while Vivi reluctantly agrees, the decision is a difficult one to make given the dissonance in the sisters’ relationship.  Indeed, the journey to understand their family’s past ends up having a profound impact on both sisters.

I have to say that I loved this novel nearly as much as I did Thao Thai’s debut, though I found the mystery aspect a little lacking, which is why I rated this one 4.5 stars instead of 5.  With that said, I actually connected with the part of the story that explored Vivi and Calla’s sibling relationship more than the mystery involving K.P. Ly and the lost artwork.  I related so much to Vivi, with her reticent personality and myopia when it came to her own needs.  Calla hits it on the nose when she reprimands her sister: “You like having the answers, working in the shadows so no one could judge your heart and mind.  You’d sooner vanish than leave yourself vulnerable.”  Vivi resents her sister for seeing through her, and yet, deep down, Vivi recognizes that, at the end of the day, she “didn’t want to win, she only wanted to be understood.” Vivi’s struggle to reconcile what she wants versus what is expected of her resonated with me deeply – true, some of Vivi’s behavior frustrated me to no end (such as the way she repeatedly hurts the people who love her by saying cruel things to them in efforts to push them away – her inability to allow anyone to love her was akin to a lingering illness that she could not overcome), but I still found myself rooting for her.  Perhaps one of the reasons why I’m so drawn to Vivi is because I see so much of myself in her, whether it’s the inherent flaws that she struggles to overcome or the attempts to navigate her different roles in life (“steady sister, dependable daughter, supportive best friend”).  To this point, I found this quote from the book particularly relevant and meaningful: “Some humans come with a price.  You accept them in their entirety, because learning to love their flaws is easier than not loving them at all.”

Thao Thai writes in a way that is both profound and perceptive, with so many gorgeously rendered sentences that I ended up having something to highlight on nearly every page.  With this book, I also did something I hadn’t done since grad school: close read and take notes.  While doing this took me longer to get through the book than normal, it was well worth the effort, as I picked up on so many nuances that I probably would not have otherwise. One example is Thao Thai’s allusion to the poem “Goblin Market” by Christina Rossetti, which I had written a paper about in one of my English Literature classes – as soon as I saw the reference, I couldn’t help noticing the parallels between the sisters’ relationships in both works and it completely changed how I engaged with the story.  That said, as much as I loved the experience, I probably won’t do this type of close reading analysis with every book, at least not upon the first read, as I see now that there is a benefit to reading a book straight through and then doing a closer read upon the second go-around when I already know the main beats of the story.

If you loved Thao Thai’s debut as much as I did, I would definitely recommend reading her sophomore novel, though I must be clear that both books are very different in story and tone, despite sharing similarly emotive and beautiful prose (and absolutely gorgeous covers).  I can’t wait to see what Thao Thai will write next!

Received ARC from Mariner Books via NetGalley.

Review: The Devoted (by Catherine Cho)

My Rating: 4 stars

As those who follow my reviews probably know by now, I can be somewhat of a fanatic when it comes to the depiction of Hong Kong (both the city and its culture) in certain mediums of entertainment (such as movies and TV shows, for instance), but especially in books.  Given Hong Kong’s literary bona fides as the former home base for some of the greatest authors in the Chinese-speaking world (Jin Yong, Ni Kuang, and Eileen Chang immediately come to mind), it has always saddened me to see the dearth of books set in or about HK that actually appear in the mainstream literary market (I’m referring mostly to fictional works here).  The books that do make it are usually written from an expat perspective (which of course makes sense given the city’s colonial roots) and oftentimes, I feel, lean too heavily into depicting the glamorous, fast-paced “cosmopolitan international city” side of HK rather than the ordinary, somewhat gritty and definitely less glamorous side that I’m more familiar with.  Though perhaps, with Hong Kong’s unique position as a city perpetually undergoing an identity crisis, I probably should not be so surprised by the disparate depictions that can vary widely based on one’s perspective.

Within this context, I found Catherine Cho’s novel The Devoted quite refreshing in that it is told from an expat perspective (the experience of a Korean family in Hong Kong), yet it also leans heavily into the side of Hong Kong that most mainstream audiences in the English-speaking world probably would not be familiar with: the dark, gritty world of HK’s infamous triad societies. Granted, we ordinary folks likely wouldn’t be familiar with the inner workings of these triad societies either, but for those of us who grew up on a steady diet of HK movies and TV series (especially in the decades when the triads were actively involved in the HK film industry), the triad society concept definitely wouldn’t be a foreign one.  Indeed, as I was reading Cho’s novel, I could picture the world she was writing about quite vividly: scenes from all those famous triad movies I grew up watching -- A Better Tomorrow, Election, Infernal Affairs, the Young and Dangerous franchise, to name few -- would come flooding back into my mind, but at the same time, it also made me curious to see what Cho’s version of the triad society would look like.  I say this because majority of the time, stories about the triads (whether movies, TV shows, or books) center on the male members of these organized crime groups – women were usually periphery characters who were either victims of the triads’ activities or passive partners expected to stand by their men no matter the cost. Cho’s story, however, goes in a slightly different direction in that she centers the narrative around a young Korean woman, Eunha, whose father and brother are both Dragon Heads (triad society leaders).  Despite attempts to shield Eunha from this criminal underworld, including having her marry into a respectable family, it’s impossible for her not to be impacted in some way due to her family’s infamous connections.  Caught between two very different worlds, Eunha struggles to reconcile the various roles she is meant to play -- daughter, sister, wife, mother -- while trying to navigate the complexities of a past that is inextricably tangled with her future.  I appreciate how Cho decided to center Eunha’s struggle as the driving force for the main tension in the story (as opposed to the experiences of the men whom the triad societies usually revolve around), yet at the same time, she does not skimp on the details about the triad lifestyle and activities.  This made for both a unique and atmospheric read.

As mentioned earlier, I had initially picked this one up purely for the Hong Kong setting, but in all honesty, knowing that the story would be told from the expat perspective gave me pause in that I thought this would go the way that most expat narratives usually do: a glamorized version that doesn’t reveal much of the “real” Hong Kong.  But to my pleasant surprise and delight, that definitely wasn’t the case here, as Cho actually gives us plenty of glimpses into the “old” Hong Kong that I know and love.  Some of the nostalgia-inducing details that I noticed in the story (in no particular order): the New Territories, fishing villages, horse races at Happy Valley, the ferry, Victoria harbor, neon signs, Mongkok, Tsim Sha Tsui, Stanley, street hawkers and food stalls, cha chaan tengs, the “other” family on the mainland, KTV, 5-10-15 drinking game, Lan Kwai Fong night life, dark alleyways, the Peninsula hotel, Lane Crawford, tai tais, night markets, Sandy Lam, the monsoon weather, typhoon season, dim sum restaurants, tiny apartments in buildings with doormen, jade medallions, the Peak, Kowloon, fortune tellers and soothsayers, trams and buses, egg tarts and milk tea (I could go on but I will stop here, as this list is already way too long).

For me, this was a nostalgic read that I ended up enjoying due to my familiarity with the setting, but I understand this may not necessarily be the case for others, so I would suggest doing your research before deciding whether to pick this one up.  One thing I will say is that for a story about triads, this is actually pretty tame, especially when compared to the HK triad-themed movies of the old days.  Most of the violence (which there isn’t much of in the first place) happens off the page so those who are concerned with reading about gory scenes don’t have to worry.  If anything, read this one for the historical and cultural aspects, which were particularly well done in my opinion.

Received ARC from Washington Square Press via NetGalley.

Review: Song For Another Home (by Bora Lee Reed)

My Rating: 3.5 stars

This is an interesting story about a historical time period that doesn’t often get written about – the Korean War and the subsequent division of the country into North and South Korea. Told from two alternating points of view, the story revolves around a family torn apart by war and the resilience that brings them together.

Oksoon is a teenage girl living in Pyeongyang who sets off with her mother and second brother Changho to look for her father and older brother in the south, where they had gone to look for opportunities but never returned.  On their journey, they encounter numerous hardships, but manage to find ways to survive amidst the devastation of war, especially when they finally reach the southern city of Seoul where they meet others who are also trying to do the best they can given the circumstances.  Together, they form a “found family” of sorts, combining efforts as well as resources to make their situation more tenable.

Further south, in the mountainous region of Jinju, Oksoon’s cousin Junho finds refuge at an orphanage where he uses his limited understanding of English to write letters to American benefactors in the hopes of helping the orphanage secure funds to keep its doors open.  When the orphanage director brings her niece Miss Kim to live with them, the mysterious circumstances of her situation alter Junho’s perspective in ways that threaten to upend the safety of the refuge that he worked so hard to attain.

Overall, I have mixed feelings toward this book.  On the one hand, I appreciate the author, Bora Lee Reed’s efforts to shed light on a period of history that is often forgotten about, outside of Asia especially.  Significantly, Reed draws on her own family history as inspiration for the story, which lends an authenticity and familiarity to the work that sets it apart from other historical fiction novels.  With that said however, I felt that the story lacked emotional depth, which was of course surprising given the author’s personal connection to the subject matter. To me, the writing felt emotionally distant to the point that I found it difficult to become invested in the characters enough to care about things that happen.  There was also a lot of “telling” of what the various characters do as well as some descriptions of surroundings that seemed irrelevant to what was going on at the time.  While it wasn’t overwhelming to the point of bogging down the entire story, it did slow things down a little.

As a debut novel, I would say that this was a good first effort from Reed, though it could’ve benefited from much more editing, mostly to tighten the writing.  Also, speaking from the perspective of someone who has read a lot of historical fiction (it IS my favorite genre after all), I found the historical aspect to be less atmospheric and immersive than I would’ve expected, perhaps because of the lack of emotional depth as mentioned earlier.  Speaking of which, when compared to other novels that also cover the topic of the Korean War – such as Lisa See’s The Island of Sea Women and, more recently, Eve J. Chung’s The Young Will Remember, both of which were emotionally poignant stories that continued to stay with me long after I finished reading them – this one unfortunately falls a bit flat.  That said, I’m glad I read it and would still recommend it for the historical insight it provides.

Received ARC from 37 Ink via NetGalley.

Review: Manga Classics: Journey to the West - The Beginning (by Wu Cheng'en; adapted by Jim Zub, Char A, and Julien Choy)

My Rating: 4 stars

I’ve tried to read comics in e-book form before, but the experience wasn’t a pleasant one, as I had to zoom in and out a lot and it was difficult to turn the pages properly.  E-galley (ARC) versions were even worse, as those were often incomplete in some way and it felt weird overall.  This is why when I saw the manga version of Journey to the West as one of the options for the Camp NetGalley badge, I was reluctant to download it at first, even though I really wanted to see how one of my favorite childhood stories would be adapted in manga form.  Ultimately, due to my lack of interest in the other options available for the badge, I decided to go ahead and give this one a shot and ended up being pleasantly surprised by the experience.  When I saw that the book was only available to download and read using the NetGalley Shelf, I thought this was a bit odd, as I’ve never used this platform before (I usually read e-books via Kindle or Kobo) and didn’t know what to expect, but this turned out to be the right choice, as using NetGalley’s own application to read this felt very similar to reading a physical version -- especially critical given that the manga was vividly rendered in full color.  I also appreciated the tutorial that was provided, which clearly explained the proper way to read manga (from right to left) – though I already knew this, the reminder was still tremendously helpful, since I don’t read manga all that often so it can be easy to forget that the format is opposite that of a regular book.

Content-wise, this first book mostly introduces the characters – the Buddhist monki Tang Sanzang and his 4 disciples Bai Longma (White Dragon Horse), Zhu Bajie (Pigsy), Sha Wujing (Sandy) and the infamous Monkey King Sun Wukong -- and explains their mission westward to retrieve the Buddha’s sutras, as well as covers the story of the Bull Demon and Princess Iron Fan.  The manga itself seems to be geared toward a middle grade audience, though of course, anyone who loves manga, regardless of age, will also probably enjoy this.

Given its status as one of the great Chinese classical works of literature, Journey to the West is more than familiar to those of us who grew up in the Chinese culture.  Though I’ve never read the epic work in its entirety (it’s near impossible to find a complete, unabridged version out there, whether in Chinese or English), I’m familiar enough with the original story to appreciate the fact that adapting such a complex epic into manga form for a young audience is no easy feat.  This version does a good job providing an overview of the mission and a few of the famous adventures that the group gets involved in, though inevitably (and unsurprisingly), much of the focus character-wise is on the mischievous troublemaker Sun Wukong and his backstory, with his brothers taking more of a backseat in terms of the action.  In terms of the comedy / humor that is an important element of the original story, I think the anime format naturally emphasizes this aspect of the story, with the exaggerated expressions visually showing the characters’ various emotions.

Overall, this was an enjoyable read and definitely a fun way for young readers to engage with such an iconic classic.  With that said, my only complaint would be that the language used is a little too Westernized and kind of slangy (words such as “bro,” “‘cause,” “gonna,” “yer,” etc…I even saw “freakin” in there a few times), to the point that it felt jarring at times for those of us who are used to the original version of the story usually told in the classical language (it was originally written in the 16^th century, after all). For kids, it probably won’t be much of a problem, but adults reading this might be put off a bit by the language. That aside, I think anyone reading this manga will be sufficiently entertained.

Received ARC from Manga Classics via NetGalley.

Review: Goodbye Chinatown (by Kit Fan)

My Rating: 3.5 stars

As a Hong Kong native, I’m always on the lookout for books about or set in the city of my birth, especially ones that are truly HK-focused – meaning written by authors actually born in or based in HK and who are familiar with the city’s culture, history, places, people, etc.  Therefore, going into Kit Fan’s second novel Goodbye Chinatown, I should’ve been excited, but instead, I was a bit apprehensive, as I had read his debut novel Diamond Hill back in 2021 and despite that book’s authentic portrayal of HK, I did not like the writing overall and struggled to get through it (and unsurprisingly, I ended up rating that one only 2 stars).  I didn’t know if this second novel would go down the same disappointing path as Fan’s previous one, so I picked this one up with some hesitation, though I’m happy to report that this one ended up being a very different book, both in style and tone, and surprised me in a good way.

This time around, Fan sets his story primarily in the UK (London, specifically), with Hong Kong serving as a secondary setting – only in the background during the first half of the book and then at the forefront during the second half – with the family at the center of the story being of Cantonese descent and also having the surname Fan.  After the Tiananmen Square Massacre in 1989, Mr. and Mrs. Fan decided to leave Hong Kong with their 10-year-old daughter Amber in tow, eventually settling in London’s Chinatown and opening a Chinese restaurant called The Golden Palace.  Flash forward 12 years, The Golden Palace is no more, as it was bought out (ironically) by Mainland Chinese investors several years ago, but young Amber, who is now an Oxford-educated chef, decides to open a Chinese fusion restaurant she names Luna. Meanwhile, Amber’s parents make the decision to return to their home city of Hong Kong, taking their 4-year-old grandson Bobby with them.  Left behind to run her new restaurant, Amber channels her loneliness into the complex dishes that she makes and soon, Luna becomes the talk of the town and goes on to earn a Michelin star after a mysterious woman named Celeste pays a visit and provides Amber with some much-needed advice and support. 

Set primarily after the return of Hong Kong to China, with the shadow of “the June 4^th Incident” (HK people’s name for the Tiananmen Massacre) lingering constantly in the background, the story, at its core, is about an immigrant family’s struggle to reconcile the two disparate cultures that shape their lives and ultimately, their identities.  Amber is the main focus in much of the story, as we track the various changes that occur in her life against the backdrop of major world events such as the aftermath of the 1997 HK handover, 9/11, the Asian financial crisis in 2008, the HK student protests and umbrella movement in 2019, and finally, the onset of Covid in 2020.

I was around Amber’s age when Tiananmen occurred and I remember the nearly identical scene in the book occurring in my own household -- the chaos unfolding on TV and my parents watching with mouths open and tears streaming down their faces; celebrities and ordinary citizens alike, dressed in black, their faces grim, some crying, all holding candles and singing solemn, heart-wrenching ballads in televised vigils; and of course, in the aftermath of such a tragic event, the pervasive fear throughout Hong Kong that what happened in Tiananmen could happen to them too once the city is returned to China – a fear that prompted many of Hong Kong’s 7 million+ citizens to frantically look into the fastest ways to get themselves and their families out of the city before 1997 came along.  As a Hong Konger who grew up in the shadow of Tiananmen, I absolutely related to so many aspects of this story – in particular, this passage from the story summed up perfectly my own memories of how the event impacted my family and so many others at the time: “Sitting in the dark, [Amber] remembered the tens of thousands of candles of the televised vigils in the aftermath of Tiananmen, where everyone had worn black and sung heart-breaking songs about heroes—how bodies became mountains and how the colour of blood turned into the colour of a nation’s flag. Grief consumed images at a faster rate. Her parents had reassured Amber that the family had gone out onto the streets in solidarity. They’d choked back tears as they sang at the top of their lungs, mourning for the students and feeling proud and scared of a single man stopping a column of tanks, standing up for the freedom and democracy they still held dear. Among an ocean of like-minded citizens, they stood there, witnessing and being witnessed. Those were times when grief became an engine of fear, when parental responsibility meant emigration.”

Indeed, there were many beautiful passages such as the above in this book, but I especially loved the descriptions of the HK foods and dishes, many of which were familiar to me, as well as Amber’s interesting fusion take on this cuisine (I especially want to try the pineapple bun burger, which there is a recipe for in the book).  The food and historical elements aside though, the complexity of Amber’s family dynamics as well as her personal struggle with identity and meaning also resonated with me, with that said, I do wish that the family relationship part was explored a little more, as I felt that there was a certain lack of emotional depth to the story overall.

In terms of the main issue I had with this book (hence the 3.5 star rating), I echoed all the other reviewers’ complaint that the ending was too abrupt, to the point that the story felt incomplete.  I honestly felt shocked and disappointed when I reached what I thought would be the climax of the story, only to turn the page and see the Acknowledgements section.  I initially thought that perhaps I turned the pages too quickly and maybe missed a page or two (or three), but nope, I had truly reached the end of the book -- given how invested I was in the story, the poorly executed ending hit especially hard for me.  Also, the last segment of the book (the chapters that take place in 2020) felt kind of rushed, which also contributed to why I couldn’t bring myself to rate this higher. 

Overall, I definitely enjoyed this novel much more than Fan’s debut, but the structure issues unfortunately impacted my reading experience more than I would have liked.  Hopefully Fan’s next novel will see improvement with this.

Received ARC from World Editions via NetGalley.

Review: Never Grow Up (by Jackie Chan, with Zhu Mo)

My Rating: 3.5 stars

I decided to pick up Jackie Chan’s memoir not because I’m a fan (in fact, quite the opposite – he’s actually one of my least favorite celebrities nowadays), but because of nostalgia, as Jackie was a big name in the HK entertainment industry during its heyday in the ‘80s and early ‘90s, when the industry was flourishing.  Back then, the HK entertainment industry was known as “the Hollywood of the East” and rightfully so given the popularity of its stars, who were known all over Asia (and some internationally as well).  As someone who was born in Hong Kong, I’ve always had great affinity for my birth city, which is why it probably won’t come as a surprise that I’ve been following all things HK, especially its entertainment industry, pretty much my entire life.  As such, having grown up on a steady diet of HK movies, TV series, music, books, etc., I’ve become so familiar with the industry that I actually know it better than the “real” Hollywood (significant because I live in Los Angeles, so Hollywood is, basically, in my backyard).  Having devoted so much time and energy to following the industry for decades, I’ve unfortunately also witnessed its deterioration over the years (the past 2 decades especially). Not only that – there’s also the fact that many of the HK celebrities I grew up watching are either retired, less active in the industry, or in some cases, no longer with us (each time I hear about the passing of a HK celebrity, my heart breaks more than a little).  Given these circumstances, it’s understandable then why I would choose to spend time reading a book that 1) is “written” by a HK celebrity that I’m honestly not too fond of, and 2) tells me nothing that I didn’t already know (actually, I probably know more than what Jackie chose to share in his memoir, LOL).

Overall, I would have to say that the experience of reading (or, more accurately, listening, since I went with the audio book version) Jackie’s memoir was enjoyable, primarily because of the nostalgia factor, as he recounts many stories from those “golden years” of the industry that I remember fondly as well.  Of course, given Jackie’s stature as the “big brother” of the HK entertainment industry, he has worked with countless HK celebrities over the years, many of whom get “name-checked” in this memoir (which, to be honest, was my favorite part of the book, as I’m a fan of some of those other celebrities).

One thing that did surprise me about this memoir though is how candidly Jackie talked about some of the scandals as well as the less savory aspects of his personal life, especially in light of the fact that Chinese celebrities (specifically, those who grew up in Asia) are notoriously reticent when it comes to their personal lives. HK celebrities – the more famous ones in particular -- are big on maintaining their privacy and are extremely skilled at playing what I call “verbal tai-chi” with reporters (“verbal tai-chi” essentially means answering questions in a way that doesn’t really reveal anything and deflecting questions without people realizing they are doing it).  This is actually partly why gossip rags are so overwhelmingly popular in HK, since they go to great lengths to dig up the information that the celebrity doesn’t want to reveal.  In Jackie’s case, there are quite a few negative things that he is “known for” in HK (i.e. his carelessness with money, being neglectful toward his son, constantly cheating on his wife, etc. – and I’m only scratching the surface here).  Jackie actually addresses some of these things in his memoir, which I found surprising – though on second thought, some things were spun in a more positive light than how they actually played out (especially his relationships with his wife, retired actress Joan Lin, and son Jaycee – both of which are more strained than he lets on his memoir).

With all that said, one thing I was super curious about (and admittedly one of the reasons why I wanted to read this memoir) was to see if Jackie was going to mention anything about the big scandal that essentially “destroyed” his career and reputation in HK (his 1999 affair with actress Elaine Ng and the daughter from that affair, Etta, whom to this day, he still refuses to acknowledge).  Spoiler alert (well, not really) -- he DOES mention it, but in a roundabout, “blink and you’ll miss it” way – there is a short section where he mentions the “serious mistake” he made in 1999 that “resulted in a love child,” but then goes on to talk about the “media frenzy” that ensued and the impact it had on himself and his family (specifically, Joan and Jaycee) – in essence, he glosses over the situation and his own behavior and instead focuses on how forgiving Joan was towards him.  I will be honest in saying I was disappointed with the way he “kind of did / kind of didn’t” mention it, as I felt this was a missed opportunity to rectify things and salvage some of the respect that was lost (for the record, it was actually this scandal and the horrible way he handled things afterwards that made me lose all respect for him, which is why I said at the beginning of this review that he is one of my least favorite celebrities nowadays), but then again, it IS his memoir so he has the prerogative to write whatever he wants, how he wants.

While I’m glad I read this memoir, I realize that I’m actually not the audience for it.  To me, it seems that Jackie wrote this memoir more for a Western audience that might not know as much about him as those of us from his home town do – or perhaps he wrote it for his fans who probably know everything but love him anyway (which is perfectly fine – to each their own).  All in all, this was an enjoyable, if not particularly insightful, read.

Review: The Last Mandarin (by Louise Penny and Mellissa Fung)

My Rating: 4 stars 

I must confess that I have not yet read any of Louise Penny’s Inspector Gamache books, not because I don’t want to, but rather because I came too late to her series.  Specifically, when it comes to book series, I’m the type of reader who is very particular about reading the entire series straight through, in order starting with the first book. The problem with this reading method, of course, is that if there are a lot of books in the series, I could potentially be spending months reading the series, which means that I would not be able to get to any of the other books on my already overflowing TBR (exacerbated by the fact that I’m not the type of reader who can read multiple books at one time, with a few very limited exceptions).  Since there are already 20 books (and counting) in the Gamache series, it would take me way too long to catch up – so regardless of how much I want to visit Three Pines, I unfortunately won’t get a chance to do so anytime soon.

Given the above, imagine my delight when I found out that Louise Penny would be collaborating with journalist Mellissa Fung on a new book – a standalone political thriller that would revolve around a Chinese mother and daughter crime-fighting duo.  My first thought was that, finally, I would get a chance to read a Louise Penny book, but at the same time, I was also excited that many elements of the book would be right up my alley: for example -- mother/daughter relationships, Chinese history and culture, Hong Kong setting, generational family story, etc.  I ended up going into this collaboration with high expectations and I’m happy to report that it did not disappoint!

The opening scene is quite gripping, as we are introduced to our two unlikely heroines -- Alice Li, a Chinese American food blogger, and her larger-than-life mother Vivien Li, a world-famous dissident who participated in the Tiananmen Square protests and is now a fierce human rights activist with supporters including the President of the United States.  Alice agrees to meet her mother at a fancy Washington D.C. hotel for brunch, but does so reluctantly, as she has a strained relationship with Vivien due to having to live in her shadow, but also because Vivien’s cold and distant attitude toward Alice created a rift that the mother and daughter cannot seem to overcome.  In the middle of brunch, Alice escapes to the restroom to get a temporary respite from her demanding mother, when suddenly, a series of alarms go off, not just locally, but it turns out, also all around the world, setting off a panic that quickly descends into chaos.  When the signal that triggered the alarms is traced back to China, Vivien (unsurprisingly) and Alice (surprisingly) are summoned to the White House to meet with the President in the hopes of figuring out what is going on.  As the situation continues to escalate with more “attacks” that result in mass casualties around the world, Alice and Vivien find themselves caught up in a battle of wills between two superpowers – the U.S. and China – whose mutual mistrust and misunderstanding of each other run deep (not unlike the mother and daughter’s own relationship).  Amidst the chaos, one thing becomes clear: there will be more attacks, with each one being more catastrophic than the last, and an outcome that no one wants to see happen – a possible declaration of war.  Given the stakes, both Alice and Vivien – along with their respective governments – must figure out a way to work together in order to prevent the next attack (as well as the disastrous outcome that is sure to follow).

Those who follow my reviews will probably know that I’m not a fan of books about politics (especially American politics) and for the most part, if I know that a book will have a heavy political bent, I try to stay away from it as much as possible.  Unsurprisingly then, I’m not keen on political thrillers either, though this particular book is an obvious exception (for reasons I mentioned above).  Indeed, there were moments as I was reading this book that I didn’t have the slightest clue what was going on from a politics standpoint (and I didn’t even try to keep the various characters’ political titles straight).  In addition to the politics though, there was also an underlying storyline related to AI and technology that I wasn’t too keen on either, as this is an area that I understand even less than politics.  While I have to admit that this did impact my reading experience a bit, fortunately the other aspects of the novel related to the mother/daughter relationship as well as the Chinese historical and cultural elements were conveyed in a compelling enough way as to keep my interest continually piqued (and kept me turning the pages to see what happens next).

As I was reading through the reviews, I noticed the reaction to this novel has been a mixed bag so far.  Some love it, some hate it, some feel it is too much of a departure for Louise Penny, some feel the plotting doesn’t work, some feel it’s not action-packed enough, etc. Of course, as with all books, everyone will have a different opinion, though I have to admit that I was a bit surprised by the huge disparity between the “like” and “dislike” – usually the gap between the two is smaller. I cannot speak for others, as we each bring our own respective experiences into our reading, but on a personal level, I felt that there were so many aspects of this novel that were well done.  Now, I must say that I read this one less for the “action-packed political thriller” piece (as I said before, I don’t read too many political thrillers, so can’t really comment on whether Penny and Fung succeed in this area), but rather, I was more interested in the character development (especially the mother/daughter relationship) as well as how the culture (my culture) was portrayed.  In both of these areas, I feel that Penny and Fung definitely delivered the goods.

First, the characters – one of the things that stood out to me with this book is the character development.  Both Alice and Vivien are nuanced characters who may not necessarily be likeable right off the bat, but they evolve as the story progresses and by the end, even though they might not have fully resolved their differences (which, realistically, they probably wouldn’t), they do come to a better understanding of each other so that their relationship becomes less strained.  Indeed, some of my favorite scenes from the story were the ones involving various interactions between mother and daughter.  The reason why I was so drawn to Alice and Vivien – not just their characters, but also the complexity of their relationship – is because, as a Chinese daughter myself, I understood intimately the complicated dynamics between mother and daughter that play out throughout the story.  One example (of many) that best illustrates this is in the opening scene, where Alice notes that when she entered the restaurant, she was 26 years old, but when she got to her mother’s table, she regressed to being 14 years old; as they interacted further, she became 9 years old and then 5, and finally, at the end of her rope, Alice regresses to a 2 year old on the verge of throwing a tantrum.  As I read this opening scene, I was struck by the familiarity of the emotions – specifically, the ever-present undercurrent of tension between mother and daughter – that is a defining feature of their relationship.  A couple chapters later, there is this quote, which is one of my favorites because of how perfectly and succinctly it encapsulates what makes the Asian mother/daughter dynamic so challenging: “[Alice] heard the clicking of her mother’s tongue.  Exasperation.  Disapproval.  Disappointment. The trinity that slowly crushed the spirit of Chinese children.”  For Asian daughters, striving to meet our mothers’ expectations but never getting there is part and parcel of our relationship dynamic, just like their constant criticisms of every aspect of our lives (how we look, how we dress, what we eat, who we hang out with, etc.) is the natural “love language” with which our mothers communicate with us.  This is partly why I was able to relate so deeply to Alice and Vivien’s constant bickering throughout the story – others might find it annoying, but I actually found it refreshing to see the familiar relationship dynamic depicted so authentically in a mainstream novel.

As for the Chinese history and culture portion – as I mentioned earlier, both authors did a great job in this area.  I watched an interview that Penny and Fung did where they talked about all the thought and discussion that went into this aspect of the book and I have to say that it absolutely shows.  Both authors said that one of their main challenges was figuring out how to accurately portray the history and culture portion without bogging down the story with too much detail – which I feel they definitely accomplished (and it was no easy feat considering the multiple settings of the story in mainland China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan, which each have their own very different cultural nuances). One thing from that interview that stuck with me is when both authors mentioned that the only argument they had while writing this book was about a scene in Taiwan that was originally going to depict people looting, but Fung said that in the culture they are writing about, it would be inaccurate to put that, as looting is not a common occurrence in those circumstances, so they ended up writing that scene differently.  Both authors mentioned in the interview that, with Fung’s Chinese background (and especially with various members of her family living in Hong Kong and China currently), she was very conscious about being culturally true to the place that they were setting a scene in.  I definitely noticed this as I was reading (especially the scenes set in my birthplace of Hong Kong, a city with which I am intimately familiar) and I appreciate the meticulous attention that was paid to getting things culturally right.

Overall, I felt that this was a solid collaborative effort from Penny and Fung, especially given the two authors’ completely different backgrounds and writing styles. While I can’t comment on how this book compares to either author’s previous works (because, as I mentioned earlier, I haven’t read either author’s previous works), nor do I care to comment on the genre aspect (i.e. how well the “political thriller” piece was executed), I really enjoyed the story as a whole.  I’m not sure whether there will be another collaboration in the future with these two authors (who are both great storytellers in their own right), but if there is, I’m definitely looking forward to it!

Received ARC from Minotaur via NetGalley (though I ended up reading a finished copy).