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).

Review: The Nine Moons of Han Yu and Luli (by Karina Yan Glaser)

My Rating: 5 stars

Wow!  This beautifully written middle grade novel absolutely blew me away!  I honestly can’t remember the last time I was so enamored with a book that I couldn’t bring myself to put it down, so I ended up finishing it pretty much in one sitting.

I first came across this book in an issue of Kirkus Reviews (I subscribe to Kirkus and read each issue cover-to-cover – yes, I know I’m weird) and was initially drawn in by the gorgeous cover.  Then, I saw the title – The Nine Moons of Han Yu and Luli -- and before even reading the blurb, I knew I had to put this on my TBR immediately – after all, it’s not often that I come across a book that has my childhood nickname (Luli) in it.  Once I read the summary (as well a as a few reviews) and found out that the story revolves around Chinese culture and history (which is also my heritage), I was ecstatic and couldn’t wait to jump in.  Coincidentally, my library hold on the audiobook version came through just as I was debating which version to read, so I went with that one and I’m so glad I did, as the audiobook was absolutely superb!  The two narrators – Sura Siu for Luli’s storyline and Brian Nishii for Han Yu’s – were wonderful:  their narration was lively and animated, bringing not only the two main characters to life, but also the rest of the (relatively large) cast of characters through different voice performances.  Best of all though, both narrators’ pronunciations of Chinese words and phrases were perfect, which lent an authenticity to the audio version that, for me, definitely enhanced the listening experience (as a side note, this can be a deal breaker for me when it comes to audiobooks – I don’t have a problem with the narrator being outside the culture as long as they pronounce the cultural words and phrases correctly).  I ended up loving this book so much that immediately after I finished listening to the library version, I went and purchased my own audio and physical copies of the book so I could re-listen and/or re-read whenever I feel like it.

At first glance, the story appears to be told in two alternating timelines:  Han Yu’s story takes place in 731 China while Luli’s takes place in New York’s Chinatown in 1931.  Both protagonists set out on adventures to save their families, but the reasoning behind why they do so is markedly different.  Han Yu is one of four children who lives in the city of Chang’An (the capital of China during the Tang dynasty era) with his parents.  Alongside his dad, Han Yu works the steamed bun stall at the local market and though they don’t earn much, they live a contented life as a close-knit family.  Even though he doesn’t recognize it, Han Yu has a special ability when it comes to animals in that he can relate to them in a way that causes them to naturally flock to him.  But it’s not just tame village animals such as dogs, camels, and magpies – there are whispers throughout the village that Han Yu has the special protection of a tiger that had appeared at the time of his birth, though no one has actually seen it in real life.  When a horrible plague descends on Chang’An, Han Yu sets out on a perilous journey across China, traveling thousands of miles to Tian Shiu and Dunhuang in order to save his family.  Luli is a fifth grader living in New York’s Depression-era Chinatown with her parents, both of whom had worked hard all their lives in order to save enough money to put towards paying off the mortgage on their house.  But business at their restaurant has been slow and soon, the family finds themselves in dire financial straits.  With the help of her neighbors and the rest of the community, Luli is determined to do whatever she can to help her family save their home.

I didn’t realize this until close to the end of the book, but the story should actually be more accurately described as being told in two “parallel” timelines rather than “alternating” – reason being is that both Han Yu and Luli’s story arcs occur within the same “nine moon” cycle, just in different eras.  I felt this was such a clever way to structure the story, not to mention the insight it provides in terms of how the Tang dynasty moon cycles worked relevant to the modern-day Gregorian calendar.  But the two timelines were parallel in other ways too – the steamed buns, the animals, the art, the significance of the silk, found families, friendship, etc. – the list goes on and on.  As I was reading, I couldn’t help but marvel at the cleverness of the many connections between the two tremendously different storylines, both of which come together in the end in a way I wasn’t expecting, but I absolutely loved.

When it comes to dual timeline stories, I usually have a preference for one timeline over the other, but in this instance, I enjoyed both times quite equally.  Though with that said, Han Yu’s timeline did have a slight edge, mostly from a familiarity perspective due to my background studying Chinese history and culture.  Many years ago, I had actually gone on a tour of the Silk Road and one of the places I visited was Dunhuang (which is where Han Yu travels to in the story to find the healing grasses for his family) as well as the nearby Mogao Caves (the Thousand Buddha Caves in the book).  Reading about both of these places brought back so many memories of that trip, but more importantly, it made this part of the story more resonant for me, as I had experienced for myself the magnificence of those sites as well as the historical significance surrounding them (and yes, I also had the very interesting experience of riding a camel during that trip and I can truly say that I absolutely related to the scene in the book where Han Yu struggled to get on and off his camel, LOL).

There was honestly so much to love about this book that I feel like I could gush about it forever.  I especially love how well the historical and cultural elements were incorporated into the story, all of it blending together in a way that created a truly immersive experience (especially the audio version).  I also appreciated the emotional depth of the story, which was so well done in both timelines – just the right amount of emotional pull without going overboard – that I found myself both laughing and crying in equal measure.

Given how much I loved this book, I of course highly recommend it, though with the caveat that the audio book version is the best way to experience this one.  Fortunately, the audio version also has the Author’s Note in it, which is also a must-read in and of itself, as the author, Karina Yan Glaser, provides valuable insight into the structure of the book – such as why she chose to set the story in Chang’An (Han Yu’s timeline) and New York City (Luli’s timeline) specifically.  Also, since this is a historical novel, Glaser also discusses which aspects of the story are real versus fictional (i.e. Han Yu’s friend and traveling companion in the story is based on a real person – the famous Tang dynasty poet and politician Du Fu).  As is the case whenever I read historical fiction, I always make it a point to read the Author’s Note as closely as I read the book itself, as I love finding out the “behind-the-scenes” stuff and also learning about the inspiration behind various aspects of the story.

If you get a chance to pick up this delightful book, definitely do so, as it is a fantastic read that I would actually love to experience again in the future.

Review: Made in China: A Memoir of Love and Labor (by Anna Qu)

My Rating: 3.5 stars

As I continue my new-found audio book journey, I’ve been focusing on listening to memoirs and other non-fiction works that I’ve had on my TBR list for ages, but never got around to reading previously.  One such memoir is Anna Qu’s Made in China: A Memoir of Love and Labor, which I can’t remember why I had on my list, but I’m glad I finally got to it.  To be honest, the subtitle of this one is kind of misleading, as there was little to nothing about “love” in these pages, though the part about “labor” is true enough.  Not long after Qu’s father dies when she was a baby, her mother goes to America to pursue a better life, leaving Qu behind in China in the care of her grandparents.  At five years old, Qu is finally reunited with her mother and her new family in Queens, New York, but instead of being a happy reunion, this becomes the start of a nightmare for Qu.  In addition to being forced to work at her mother and stepfather’s garment factory (aka sweatshop), Qu is also repeatedly abused by her mother, who favors Qu’s half-siblings (a brother and sister) and alternates between treating Qu as a maid (making her take care of all the household choirs as well as both of her half-siblings) or pretending she doesn’t exist.  Qu spends most of the book detailing the abuse she suffers at her mother’s hand, such as when she is punished for doing her homework and thrown out of the house by her stepfather at the direction of her mother.  The most harrowing instance of abuse is when Qu’s mother beats her with a hanger for daring to tell her half-sister to ask for permission before using her colored pencils – an incident that nearly kills Qu when she tries to jump out the window to avoid her mother’s violence.  Pushed to the end of her rope, Qu alerts the Office of Children and Family Services through her school’s guidance counselor and after an investigation, Qu sees her situation improve in that she no longer has to work in the family’s sweatshop (where any money she “earned” went to her abusive mother) and instead, she is allowed to make her own money through jobs such as a dental assistant and waitressing.  Even though the social worker assigned by the OCFS, Mary, helps make Qu’s life a little bit better, the one thing that Mary is not able to help Qu with is the one thing she desperately wants – to make her mother love her.  Qu eventually goes off to college and becomes estranged from her mother for the most part (though she does go back to visit her mother, stepfather, and half-siblings at their Queens home and has dinner with them as though nothing happened, which I honestly found a bit baffling given everything she suffered in that family, culminating with her mother’s most recent refusal to provide her with the signature needed for her to continue with her schooling).

In the second half of the book, which takes place 20 years later, Qu recounts her experience working at a start-up company that is on the brink of collapsing.  This portion of the memoir I felt was kind of irrelevant to everything that occurred in the first half (though perhaps Qu included it to show how miserable her life continued to be due to all the lingering trauma from the abuse?).  During this time, Qu decides to request her OCFS report and when she receives it, she is shocked to find tons of inaccuracies with the report, all the way down to the OCFS finding that there was no evidence that Qu was ever abused.  This revelation, along with the discovery that her mother had kept the news of her beloved grandfather’s death a secret from her, devastates Qu.  Though the memoir does end on a slightly positive note with Qu being reunited with the grandmother who raised her in China and the only person in her family who truly loves her unconditionally, that scene felt too short and abrupt to counteract the “heaviness” of everything that came before it.

Overall, I found this to be an uncomfortable read, not just because of the subject matter, but also because there were points throughout the memoir (though mostly near the end) where it came across as though Qu was trying to justify her mother’s abusive behavior by relating it to the struggles she endured being widowed at a young age and then having to build a life for herself after immigrating to America alone. In a segment near the end of the book, it almost felt like Qu was trying to find excuses for her mother, insinuating that perhaps the hardship of having to overcome her situation as a Chinese immigrant woman in America is what made her violent and abusive, which might be true, but then seems to dismiss everything else she had written prior to that. 

The other thing that made this a not-too-pleasant listen was the narrator of the audio book (not the author) who read the entire book in a tone that sounded perpetually angry and bitter.  While it can be argued that using such a tone probably makes sense in this case given the subject matter, it felt grating after awhile, especially after listening for several hours straight, and put me in a depressed mood.  I think this is an instance where it would’ve been better for me to actually read the book instead of listening to it via audio.

Review: The Young Will Remember (by Eve J. Chung)

My Rating: 4.5 stars

Ever since I finished reading Taiwanese American author Eve J. Chung’s stunning and immersive debut novel Daughters of Shandong back in 2023, I have been eagerly anticipating her next book, so I of course was ecstatic to find out that her sophomore novel, The Young Will Remember, would be published this year.  Whereas Chung’s debut drew on her own family history – specifically, the story of her maternal grandmother and her experiences during the Chinese civil war -- this second novel is inspired by her half-Korean husband’s family history and shed lights on another lesser-known piece of 20^th century history:  the Korean War, which was also known as the “Forgotten War.” At the same time, Chung also incorporates her own experiences as a women’s human rights lawyer as well as her work with victims of sexual violence to bring some much-needed attention to the crime of military sexual slavery and the history of “comfort women” during World War II and the wars that followed it. 

Chung weaves these threads together through the story of Eleanor (Ellie) Chang, a Chinese American journalist who becomes trapped behind enemy lines when the plane she is riding in goes down in the mountains of North Korea at the height of the Korean War.  Upon witnessing her comrades being executed in cold blood, Ellie believes she is about to meet the same fate – that is, until a woman she later comes to know as “Emma” claims Ellie as her long-lost daughter Song Yun-Hee, whom Emma had been searching for ever since she was kidnapped by Japanese occupation forces during the previous war.  Even though Ellie is obviously not her daughter, Emma takes her into the home where she lives with her long-time friends, the Pak family – Pastor Pak, his wife Imo, and their son Jae-Min – and treats her as part of the family.  Gradually, Ellie forges a close connection with Emma and Imo – a relationship that only grows stronger as the war intensifies and they are eventually forced to escape to safety in the south. Throughout their harrowing escape, even as they bear witness to the chaos and destruction of bombs raining down on them almost daily, Emma never stops searching for her daughter and at some point, Ellie also takes up the search for Yun-Hee as her own personal mission.  While the search for Yun-Hee is a thread woven throughout the narrative, the heart and soul of the story centers around the bond that Ellie and Emma form as they endure the difficulties of life amidst the upheaval of war.

Once again, Chung delivers a moving story about ordinary women who, bound together by the will to survive the extraordinary hardship and devastating heartbreak that they face, fight against all odds to rise resiliently above the forces that threaten them.  In situating her characters within the historical context of the impact that World War II had on Korea (which she discusses in her Author’s Note), Chung succeeds in doing what well-researched and well-written historical fiction does best: shed much-needed light on little known aspects of history that can also serve as relevant teaching moments when circumstances require it.  In this light, and given its themes, the title of the novel – The Young Will Remember – is indeed apt.

While I still prefer Chung’s debut novel Daughters of Shandong (which was a 5-star read for me), this sophomore effort is a worthwhile read and definitely highly recommended – though with the caveat that this won’t be an easy read by any means, given its depiction of war and its atrocities. Even so, it is still time well-spent.

Received ARC from Berkley via NetGalley.

Review: A Living Remedy (by Nicole Chung)

My Rating: 4.5 stars

Nicole Chung’s second memoir is a poignant love letter of sorts to her parents, both of whom pass away less than one year apart – her father from diabetes and kidney disease in 2019, and her mother from cancer in 2020, during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic.  Chung’s grief is palpable as she recounts the tragedy of her parents’ deaths and her own helplessness in being able to do much for them, both due to financial hardship and physical distance. Mixed in with the pain of losing her parents – both of whom loved her deeply -- is the guilt that comes from feeling that she abandoned them by leaving behind the rural hometown that she grew up in as soon as she could, in pursuit of a life that couldn’t have been more different than what she had known.  Alongside that is the feeling of rage that followed Chung almost incessantly as she gradually begins to understand the role that deep-rooted inequalities in America’s healthcare system played in the premature deaths of both her parents, who were only in their 60s when they passed. In highlighting these disparities, Chung is not vindictive – instead, she lays out the challenges that her parents encounter with the system, and in so doing, not only gives voice to their experiences, but also provides an insightful look into the frustrations of a system that, in its deliberate complexity, is neither meant to be fair nor equal.

Chung’s account of her parents’ experiences especially resonated with me due to my own mother’s health issues, many of which are similar to her parents’: diabetes, kidney disease, breast and uterine cancer, high blood pressure, irregular heartbeat, just to name a few.  I understand the difficulties of having to navigate a complicated healthcare system that, at the end of the day, often times leads to disappointment and despair.  I could also relate to Chung’s worry for her parents as well as the guilt that comes from not being by her loved ones’ side when they needed her most.

This was a heartbreaking read, but also an insightful one that gave me so much to think about and reflect upon, both as it pertains to my own family situation as well as the overall state of the healthcare system in this country.  I definitely recommend this searing, honest memoir, especially the audio book version, which, even though not narrated by the author herself, was still powerful and poignant in its recounting of the everyday realities and struggles of ordinary people trying to live their lives.