I'm the same age as Hua Hsu, the author of this memoir. I'm also an asian american (although he's Taiwanese, second generation) and, like him, grew upI'm the same age as Hua Hsu, the author of this memoir. I'm also an asian american (although he's Taiwanese, second generation) and, like him, grew up in the nineties, when the pinnacle of cool consisted of knowing obscure bands before anybody else did (now, there's no point, when everything is streamed at the push of a button). Like him, I also got into zines and the DIY aesthetic and writing. So I'm really the ideal audience for this book, but I felt quite unmoved by it.
Part of the problem is I had no idea wtf this memoir was about!
Was it about his immigrant upbringing and his teenage identity crisis? Or was it about his college friends, especially his friend Ken, who was later (SPOILER) murdered? If it's the latter, then I don't understand why Ken wasn't introduced until after the halfway point of the book, and his murder not brought up until about the last quarter of the book. Or maybe the two parts are connected, because Ken is asian american himself... but Japanese, which is (relatively speaking) the more assimilated version of asian american. But again, I was looking for more depth in this department, because I couldn't quite see a coherent point being made, just an attempt and a miss.
Also, there's no big mystery behind his murder, it's a simple banal crime. So it was all about Hua's feelings of guilt (unwarranted) around the murder, even though it had nothing to do with him, really. It seems a bit self centered to make it all about himself. I'd like to think Hua is at least self aware and poking fun at himself a little about this, but I'm not always sure...
There's some potential with his friendship with Ken: lessons of self growth, of learning that we are more than our manufactured identies of likes and dislikes. Hua's hypocrisy and immaturity is exposed through the friendship. It's a lesson I think he kinda learns throughout the book; Hua grows up, but I don't feel like this was focused on enough, and also I'm not sure he has really internalized this lesson, or if he has, it doesn't show in this memoir... there doesn't seem to be enough deep examination or insight into this to make it convincing or interesting.
The other part of the problem was that the writing was boring. It's the "this happened and then this happened" type of writing style that felt kind of pointless and unending. Why are you telling me all these details about your college friends and what house you moved into when with what roommates, etc? What's the bigger picture here? About 30% or more of the book could have been cut.
There WERE moments of enjoyment, though. For example, I loved that he included the full text of his father's (faxed) letters to him. His father's sweet and earnest messages reminded me of my own parents. He seemed desperate to connect, yet hopelessly of a different generation and mindset. His broken english communicated more than the most perfect english could, and though they probably will never see eye to eye on everything, there's an openness and love there that is refreshing to see in an asian dad (typically very reserved and stern). Maybe the memoir could've been about THAT! But no, that was only a small part of it....more
I've had great luck with short story collections this year. I've only read 3 so far, and all have been 4 or 5 stars. This one wasn't perfect, there weI've had great luck with short story collections this year. I've only read 3 so far, and all have been 4 or 5 stars. This one wasn't perfect, there were stories I just didn't get (Yeti Lovemaking) and also many of the stories ended right when it could have gotten a lot more interesting. But still, I think there's a lot here that resonated and felt poignant. I felt like her surrealism came from a place of authentic emotion. Some felt metaphorical but not overly so.
Some have complained that all the narrators have been a similar person, but I actually really liked that about it. It felt almost like connected short stories, the way Oranges picks up where Los Angeles stopped, with the character of Adam. And the way the last story reminded me of the first stories with its protagonist named Eve (Adam and Eve). Just tiny little things like that made me connect them, but not in an overly literal way. My favorite story was definitely 'Returning'. It's one of those stories with many smaller stories inside of it but also an undeniable emotional core.
Los Angeles - 4.5 (loved the atmosphere of these first two stories, the surreal angst, the trauma of relationships and their long reaching effects made real through an un-real conceit that seems very emotionally real) Oranges - 4 (abuse, responsibility, how do we reconcile outwardly and inwardly, how do we get over trauma, how do we warn others, a powerful story) G - 3.75 (a drug that makes you invisible, what it means to truly be seen, what it means to be not seen) Yeti Lovemaking - 2.5 (didn't get it, should probably re-read it) Returning - 4.75 (definitely my favorite, the idea of transformation being a kind of death, the mood of it, displacement and the immigrant experience, the many mini-stories within the bigger story, but all having a similar theme, the sense of not knowing where the narrator stands in relation to her husband or the people around her kind of felt like The Unconsoled a bit) Office Hours - 3.5 (many of these stories end right at the cusp of something happening, many of which I didn't mind. This one, I kind of did, and wished I knew what happened afterwards.. I do like the idea of stepping into a secret otherworld, the premise for many works of fiction, but I'm not sure what she adds to that trope here) Peking Duck - 4.25 (brilliant use of story within story, and the idea of questioning whose story belongs to whom, like how it could happen to someone else but still be your story, and anticipating the criticisms of the story itself (it's kind of like the story teaches us how to read it) before finally revealing the story, also the one that most speaks to the immigrant experience, along with Returning) Tomorrow - 4 (a story of motherhood anxiety that kind of reminded me of the themes of B&E and I'll Go On, but done in a way more surreal way)...more
This was a good reminder for me to read with an open mind. I kept wanting this book to be something it wasn't... I wanted interiority, psychology, immThis was a good reminder for me to read with an open mind. I kept wanting this book to be something it wasn't... I wanted interiority, psychology, immersiveness. I wanted to REALLY know the characters instead of reading about what they're doing. But this book does none of that and it was frustrating. It read almost like a 500 page movie synopsis, beautifully written synopsis, but synopsis nonetheless... and I wanted to watch the movie itself! But then I realized that it's just not what this book is trying to do, and that I needed to meet it on its own terms.
Near the end of the novel, there is a lot of decay. The vegetation has come into the cracks and the ants have carried away the waste. And that's an appropriate image, because reading this novel is much like watching those ants from above. Marquez's angle is so macro that it's hard to be truly involved with the characters. Instead, the only character is the town itself. I got to know the town almost as if peering into an ant colony, and seeing how cycles repeat themselves on the micro and macro levels.
Through this god-like point of view, we're able to see these cycles on a mythical level, the stories told and retold, the names repeated over and over. And again I was reminded of Joseph and His Brothers, a book that I feel revolved around a similar idea from a completely different angle (and was very immersive, but I mean, it did use another 1000 pages to do it haha, so there's that).
Much has been made about the magical realism in the book. I found it pretty tame compared to some other books. I guess I read more out there shit, and I guess a lot of people live off a diet of boring realism. I don't think it should be made into such a big thing. Basically, it's expressionism. Things happen, you accept it and try to grasp its emotional resonance instead of reading it overly literally or overly symbolically.
I did like that the book made subtle digs at the idea of what is magic, though... and that it is relative to who's looking. To the colonialists, a person being blown away with the laundry is magical. But to the locals, it's normal. Ice, on the other hand, is much more magical!
For those who loved this book, or loved the idea of it, but want a little more immersiveness (like I did), I recommend Elena Garro's Recollection of Things to Come. It was written a few years before A Hundred Years of Solitude, and I've always thought it criminally underread and underappreciated. Like this one, it is also uses "magical realism" to tell an intergenerational story. It's about a town with lots of characters, intrigue, politics, etc. It's got a POV just distanced enough to paint a tapestry, and yet you still feel a connection to all the characters, and the whole thing is very moving....more
Difficult (emotionally) but essential. I admire Chanel so much. She's such a good writer. I felt like I knew her. I wanted to give her a hug. This booDifficult (emotionally) but essential. I admire Chanel so much. She's such a good writer. I felt like I knew her. I wanted to give her a hug. This book broke me over and over again. Devastating, infuriating, inspiring, empowering... so many emotions. Read it!...more
Sometimes Hartman is so poetic about something so simple, that I find myself wary, wondering if she's conflating what's actually there. For example, iSometimes Hartman is so poetic about something so simple, that I find myself wary, wondering if she's conflating what's actually there. For example, in the chapter titled "An Intimate History of Slavery and Freedom," I think: Mattie is simply a young black woman who is being courted, and she gives in to her desires, has sex with Herman Hawkins, an older black man. Is it really as Hartman says: a revolution? A sexual revolution that predated the age of the Gatsbys? Hasn't there always been this rebellion, this desire and want and self discovery even during slavery? Is it a sign of a bigger societal movement?
Later, I'm convinced; she's convinced me. The limits placed on black women at the time meant any small act of self-assertion needs to be celebrated as potentially radical. And it's beautiful the way Hartman writes about it. She doesn't write like a historian even though she is writing history. She writes like a poet or a novelist.
It's powerful how even in the budding discovery of her wants and desires, Mattie, who is not allowed to have agency in any other part of her life, who is conscripted to the servant and whore roles, is finding out who she is through her sexuality.
But I love how Hartman reminds us that it's never really as simple as that. Even in this personal realm of desire, it's not a complete liberation and empowerment. The man has nudged her into her desires. Not that she didn't have desires, but he talks dirty to her despite her telling him not to. We're perpetually wading into those shades of gray, where consent is not clear. Even here with a black man in the privacy of love, she is being dominated, she is not the one with power. Perhaps the man "trained her to want what she didn't," Hartman wonders. But within that less than ideal dynamic, or despite it, there is for her still a discovery, rebellion, liberation. Complicated, but true.
I loved the way Hartman teases out these shades and subtleties of right and wrong. Of right within wrong. Of joy within poverty and servility. Of love within the hallways and doorways. Moments of life glimpsed outside of tragedy. Hartman is careful not to write a narrative that pornographies black suffering. She wants to acknowledge suffering but also acknowledge the joy, the life and human spirit that rises up despite it. That black lives were here despite being dismissed as a footnote, as minor nameless figures in photographs.
It becomes more complicated: Mattie gives birth to a stillborn girl. She was a minor when they had sex, and now a social worker wants her to charge Hawkins with statutory rape. Consent "was the way to shift the burden of criminality from her shoulders to his." It made me think. On the one hand I agree that this WAS statutory rape. On the other hand, it wrenches the power from Mattie. Before, she had agency, she desired something, even if it lived in the gray regions... now in the light of the law, she never even had the right to consent to desire it. Her power had been taken from her in both situations.
I focused this review on only one small chapter of this book, but it's representative of the types of quiet revolutions and acts of bold living from otherwise unheard of black women throughout this book. Impressively, Hartman teases these stories out of dry police reports and biased accounts of crime written by white people long long ago, and re-infuses them with life and the living....more
I love how these stories (form and content) are all very different, while the themes and concerns are very cohesive. So you don't feel like you're reaI love how these stories (form and content) are all very different, while the themes and concerns are very cohesive. So you don't feel like you're reading the same story over and over again (like some collections) while at the same time, each story deepens your understanding and enjoyment of the whole... women in the church, mother daughter relationships, lesbian relationships, absent/unreliable male figures, dealing with grief, etc.
A really great collection, took me a couple stories before I totally appreciated it, but my favorites were Peach Cobbler, When Eddie Levert Comes, Jael, Dear Sister, Snowfall, and Instructions for Married Christian Husbands....more
I love reading reviews on Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ because they're not professional reviews. That means they're entangled with memories, hopes, expectations, flaws. I love reading reviews on Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ because they're not professional reviews. That means they're entangled with memories, hopes, expectations, flaws. The personal lives of the reviewer often adds to my understanding of a book, of how a book could appeal to certain people. Often I will love a review of a book I have absolutely no intention of reading because I'm more intrigued by the review than the book.
This book approaches music journalism in much the same way as my favorite reviews. Hanif Abdurraqib is one of my favorite writers thanks to his They Can't Kill Us Until They Kill Us, which I read last year. Then I learned that this book existed, an entire book on one musical group, A Tribe Called Quest, and I realized it's one of those books that I absolutely would not have read if I didn't already love the author, since I didn't know or care much about ATCQ (I do now). But because it was Abdurraqib, and because I knew he is never afraid to invite us into his world, I knew this would be about so much more than one musical group, and I was right. His personal connection with ATCQ and his passion for them is what drew me in and what makes this book special.
Abdurraqib is such a good writer that he makes me wish all music journalism was as impassioned, as brave and unafraid to branch out from the strictly musical to the broader world of where that music came from, the streets and culture where the music takes on new meaning. Throughout this book, I was taken not only through the journey of one hip hop group's rise and fall, but also the neighborhoods where Abdurraqib grew up, the language of Jet magazines, Kool-Aid, and Knicks games. This book is like a mix-tape. Each song is infused with more meaning because of who made it and the thought behind it. This is such a personal book that also admirably broadens to a time and place.
I did feel that Abdurraqib falls a little bit into sentimentality and repetition at points that he doesn't fall into in his other book, but these are minor gripes. I loved this book and want to read everything he wrote, and you should too....more
MEN AND WINDS HAVE THIS IN COMMON: NEITHER HAVE THEIR FEET ON THE GROUND. NOMADS, THEY COME AND GO LIKE THE PAIN OF SHATTERED LOVE, NERVOUS TENSION, I
MEN AND WINDS HAVE THIS IN COMMON: NEITHER HAVE THEIR FEET ON THE GROUND. NOMADS, THEY COME AND GO LIKE THE PAIN OF SHATTERED LOVE, NERVOUS TENSION, INDEPENDENCIES, WARS OF LIBERATION, THE URGENT NEED TO DEFECATE IN THE STAIRWELL OF A BUILDING BETWEEN TWO BLACKOUTS.
the viscerality of the text
the urgency of the text
the propulsive rhythm of the train tracks
the atmosphere of the City-State spilling off the page
All nights have this particularity: they are long and popular. They teem with the rabble. They stifle awareness and accrue neurosis. They bind a straw mattress and a clock into an unrecognizable muddle. They come from the heart, improvise, and facilitate multiple partnership agreements between foreign bodies.
the prose is loud and soft simultaneously, somehow
a petri dish where nothing much happens plot-wise but you look closer and notice all these organisms screaming and fucking
the way the voices interweave into the text not to be snuffed out
"Do you have the time?"
voices disembodied from speakers, interrupting all thought
with no help from Fiston as to who's saying what but it's still clear if you relax, let it wash over you
even a description is broken up by voices asking if you have the time and other such things, do you?
RULE NUMBER 64: let them play the hardmen, for they paper over society’s dregs. RULE NUMBER 67: the mightier crush the mighty, the mighty defecate in the mouths of the weak, the weak sequestrate the weaker, the weaker do each other in, then split for elsewhere.
the underlying tragedy of a place plundered
but not without enjoyment of the ephemeral present if you call this enjoyment
RULE NUMBER 46: fuck by day, fuck by night, fuck and fuck some more for you know not what tomorrow brings.
i disagree with those that say the book is sexist... it shows a sexist society, but that is different from it being sexist. in fact, it shows the reality of the situation for many of these women in a very tragic light, and i do feel there is an empathy here, a subtle but definite editorial angle, the same way he shows the inequalities in other sections of his City-State
The City-State works like this: the girls are emancipated, democratic, and independent. Poverty does away with shame and your courtesies.
if you call this enjoyment... except enjoyment here is debased, twisted, not really enjoyment, more like a form of escapism, denial thru base desires, the pleasures of the underbelly
The main character in the African novel is always single, neurotic, perverse, depressive, childless, homeless, and overburdened with debt. Here, we live, we fuck, we’re happy. There needs to be fucking in African literature too!
BTW i'm not reviewing this as african lit, just lit AF
afterall isn't life shit everywhere? the nihilism at play here feels very of the moment
one where we plunder our own earth for resources, tear down our own house for big money, sell our own bodies and our own minds...for what?
actually, i think you either live in a world where this is a daily reality, or in a world of comforts that allows you to ignore this reality (but is still fueled by this reality)
and the lowest of the low survive to make a quick buck because they don't have any other option
ignoring all the rules, all sense of perspectives
He felt guilty at fiddling with history. Is there a limit to the imagination of a writer who takes real facts and uses them to construct a world where truth and fiction coexist? What right does one have to play around with collective memory? Is there any credibility in getting these sometimes-disparate characters in tune?
sometimes 'you' is lucien. sometimes 'us' is the collective of City-State. sometimes there is just a 'they'
the high highs are exhilirating, but sometimes the lows are necessary to tie them together, to string along an explanation or a backstory. sometimes the book falls back to this human-level prose, which is understandable, yet still slightly disappointing
the rules of the game are clearly defined, and that the main thing is to live off anything that falls into your hands. The tragedy is already written, we merely preface it.
ps if you're still unconvinced, please watch Fiston read one of his poems to white men (starting at 3:28) it is hilarious and poignant and also you'll understand everything you need to about where his writing comes from even if you (like me) don't understand a single word of french...more
This one gets an extra star for originality and being like no other book I've read before. It's experimental in the most silly and delightful and incoThis one gets an extra star for originality and being like no other book I've read before. It's experimental in the most silly and delightful and inconsequential way. Here is how the author describes it himself, (this is an excerpt from within the book)
I told them it was a novel written by someone who didn’t know much about Texas because he didn’t know about Texas, a novel that didn’t really have much to say, a halfhearted attempt to come up with of a series of groundless hypotheses, a mixture of the stream of consciousness technique, the paralysis of consciousness technique, and the derangement of consciousness technique, a novel that even a passing dog would laugh at, and after I said these things they rang true and my friends seemed perplexed, and I said the novel was going to be a disastrous failure to be mocked by everyone to which we toasted. But there was an advantage to writing with failure in mind, which was to say that failing to write a failure wouldn’t really be a failure, so the fear of failure wouldn’t weigh you down as heavily as you wrote.
and later:
The only thing that concerned me was finding out how long and until when I could go on saying things like this that were pure nonsense and that kept going off on a tangent and that had nothing to say and that, furthermore, made no difference whether they said anything or not and in the end were irrelevant, and you could say that I’m writing this in order to find that out (and also to find out how many repetitions of words and phrases I could use, which naturally bring pleasure to people who understand the pleasure they bring and don’t to people who don’t understand them). There were too many fictions that made an attempt to say something and too few that intentionally said something that may be irrelevant, and as for me I thought that there was a need to think that there was a need to think that there was a need to say things that may be irrelevant, and to think that there was a need to think that there was no need to say other things, and what I wanted to say was things that kept going off on a tangent forever if only that were possible.
She's finding her voice. It starts as one thing and ends as another. Neither is bad, but I was quite unprepared for the change, from observation to thShe's finding her voice. It starts as one thing and ends as another. Neither is bad, but I was quite unprepared for the change, from observation to thesis. From personal to systemic. It's almost an essay in novel form. It only suffers because the essay part makes the novel part feel like a case study, an extended example, or a prop to make a point. The change in tone is jarring and doesn't work yet.
But I asked myself "why not?" Maybe I'm not allowing for that in a novel because it's a novel. It's supposed to be a smooth ride, the tone should fit perfectly. But in real life people have radically different modes of thinking depending on their mood, from one day to the next, and we allow that because we're human. So why not here?
Near the end, a death is dangled. A metaphorical death but also a physical one. The death is the only way out of the system that surrounds her. The system that includes the capitalistic life she leads, the always-climbing. The system includes the transactional nature of everything including her skin, her color, her sex. Her very presence is symbolic (of her race, her sex, her class, etc.) but she wants to be a real person! (The only irony is that the author is making her into a symbol too, even her death is merely a symbol and doesn't seem real...) The system includes the words she uses to write this account, which can never be truly subversive. The system is inescapable except through death. And even then......more
"...the concept of singular is a subtle but important factor in much of Japanese culture. It implies taking a step back to admire something that might
"...the concept of singular is a subtle but important factor in much of Japanese culture. It implies taking a step back to admire something that might be slightly deviant, or unsettling in some way. To coolly observe something repellent and unpleasant and appreciate it as a form of beauty for entertainment. I find that psychology fascinating. Take the ideogram for 'singular' for instance, which also contains the meaning of 'suspect and unusual'. I see in that a kind of warped humour. With echoes of a sadistic joke, a brutal awakening, or a detached gaze."
I never thought I'd love a murder mystery as much as this. It's also weird to read something in this genre, where the writing is so lacking in tension (at least in the beginning), and the overall mood is peaceful and reflective. This is not a criticism, as I really loved that about it, and it felt refreshing. For large chunks, the book seems more interested in the human elements, of how memory works after trauma, of how people deal with extraordinary unexplainable events, of how you can't know what goes inside another person's head, than with solving the mystery, and I'm fine with that.
“Fear is a spice that lends credibility. Just the right amount sprinkled in any story makes it plausible.�
Without a second read, I can't say for sure, but my initial thought upon finishing is that I wish she had been more extreme: by leaving it either MORE open ended or not open ended at all... I either want to know everything that happened, or I want to know much less than she gave us. The ending provided just enough of a tease that it frustrated me. If it were more open-ended, then I could just enjoy it as a reflection on a traumatic event and a town and its people, with an element of mystery in there.
I think it's also because the "solutions" to the mystery that Onda seems to be nodding towards all seem a bit silly to me.
But I definitely wanna qualify that opinion with the fact that I've only read this once, and I think this really is a book you need to read twice. Maybe things become more clear after a second read.
“That’s how I came to believe that it’s impossible to ever really know the truth behind events.�
The novel is written from many different perspectives, almost like in the movie Rashomon, where truths fragment into many versions and angles. Each section is written in a different way, some are excerpts from one of the character's novel, some are entries in a diary. But many sections are transcripts of a conversation between an invisible interviewer and one of the characters while they walk around town. These sections were fine except for a pet peeve I have. It's one that mostly happens in movies where you hear only one side of a phone conversation, and it goes something like this:
"What did I have for lunch? A sandwich. What did I think of it? I thought it was delicious"
Whereas in real life the conversation would've been: "A sandwich... Delicious"
I know, it's a silly thing, but it bothers me in movies, and it bothered me here as well. Overall, I really loved this book and would recommend it to anyone who doesn't mind uncertainty and unsolved mysteries, and a lot of meditative beautiful passages....more
This is one of the most powerful and enlightening books about race I've ever read. It's also one of the most powerful and enlightening books about musThis is one of the most powerful and enlightening books about race I've ever read. It's also one of the most powerful and enlightening books about music I've ever read. To be able to do those two things at once, and to have one enlighten the other and vice versa, while also inviting the reader in with such a warm voice, like an old friend sharing stories on the porch, without judgement or snobbishness, with an aim at understanding and love is an absolute miracle. That he was able to reach such heights with almost every essay here is astounding.
I think something I've noticed about the way he explains racial misunderstandings is that a lot of times it comes from a lack of context.
It's like a person who has never been hungry looking at someone who is starving and asking "why are you acting this way? Why aren't you using the proper utensils and being proper?" and just not understanding that how they (someone who has been fed) would act is different and not at all relevant to the starving person's predicament.
A lot of this is about survival, and when it's not about survival, it's about joy. About enjoying the moment BECAUSE you never know how long you're gonna get to.
Also: even though some of this music might not be your jam, don't let that deter you. The music writing here served as an eye opening way for me to enter worlds I was not aware of before. Even when I didn't enjoy the same music he's talking about, the essays here made me appreciate where each artist was coming from and how to listen, how differently one can listen (in all senses of that verb: to listen).
Lastly: unlike most books on race, this one actually gives me a strange hopefulness, while still being gut-wrenchingly realistic about the horrible state of the world....more
The thing about matryoshkas, Mujae announced while he grated the radish, is that they’re hollow to begin with. There’s nothing inside of any substance
The thing about matryoshkas, Mujae announced while he grated the radish, is that they’re hollow to begin with. There’s nothing inside of any substance. There’s just one matryoshka inside another, that repetition is itself what defines a matryoshka, not any actual object part, so in fact it’s more precise to say that a matryoshka contains an eternal recurrence than a number of smaller matryoshkas. So it’s not as though anything has ceased to exist because it broke; all we’ve done is confirmed that it never existed in the first place. That sounds so futile, Mujae. Futility is precisely why I’ve always thought that a matryoshka resembles human life.
I love Hwang Jungeon's voice. It's subtle and quiet, and at first it doesn't seem like there's much to her stories at all. Nothing much happens, and it's very episodic. But in her own quiet way, she builds these strong characters and relationships and shows you these small beautiful moments into their world. Her point of view is often from the downtrodden, the ignored, the lower classes.
This one had surreal touches to it, but it was very controlled. I liked how she negotiated the realism with that fantastical element at the same time, without one taking over. It's still very rooted in reality. There's also a mysterious quality to the shadows that is never explained, and I liked that. It wasn't entirely a negative thing, as many of the characters continued to live even when their shadows rose up. But there's an ominous quality to it, a feeling like these characters are living in a liminal space, almost ghosts already.
I think a good film director to make the movie version of this book would be Apichatpong Weerasethakul.
This definitely wasn't as strong as her other book "I'll Go On" but I still loved it. I'd happily read any book she writes from now on....more
“Don’t erase things from the world just because you are incapable of imagining them.�
An incredible book! If books were like movies and you could pair
“Don’t erase things from the world just because you are incapable of imagining them.�
An incredible book! If books were like movies and you could pair them up as "double features", I think this would be a PERFECT pairing with Breasts and Eggs. They tackle a lot of the same themes and even have very similar plot points. A woman and her sister. A woman wanting a child, but not necessarily wanting the father around. The consequences of bringing a life into a fucked up world. A woman and her sister's unique relationship. Growing up poor, "broken" homes, abusive parents, dreams... I could go on (no pun intended)... but I won't.
Because the two books are also very different in terms of tone. In terms of the way they are written. Breasts and Eggs felt almost cold at times in its treatment of themes. Characters had conversations that seemed to float in a theoretical ether. Whereas in this book, everything seemed much more grounded and organic. Thought provoking, but in a way that was a natural extension of the story and the very real characters.
I loved her writing style. It's understated, not flashy, subtle, and a bit slow, but slow in a way that builds into something very moving. She gets inside the bones of her characters.
A misuteri, she says, mystery, a sort of black hole. And in that family, the black hole happens to be the chamber pot. They may even be aware that the chamber pot is their version of the unknowable. Or maybe they’ve never even thought about it along these lines � but even so, the point is that some things are impossible to comprehend.
There are many mysteries in the world, but in this book, the biggest mystery (or 'misuteri') is what's going on inside the heads of other people. Especially people closest to you, people you consider family... what's locked inside of families, their unique dynamic, to those outside of those families; as well as what's locked from each other WITHIN family members. What goes unsaid, what we assume that the other is thinking or feeling, without asking them, building into resentments, as when the two sisters don't talk.
"That's what family means to him: no longer counting as other people."
The way it's written perfectly expresses this idea of the other. Told from 3 different perspectives, 3 distinct voices, you get to know each one and their thoughts intimately. Yet as you're in each one's head, you DON'T get to see what the others are thinking. This is an illusion of course. What's the border between self and the other? Could they, like drops of water, merge together? Is it precisely because they are family, that they are sometimes the furthest apart?
On the topic of families, Hwang has much to say. The idea of being a single parent worries Nana. But throughout the course of the novel we see children of single parents (our protagonists) as well as children with no parents (Naghi's mother being raised by her grandfather and aunt) and children with both parents (Moseh as well as Naghi's love interest) and we see how they all end up being fucked up in different ways. Childhood traumas carry on into adulthood, inevitably. We see how every family is different and uniquely fucked up.
There are many other themes, but emily and spenky's reviews cover them so well already. Go read them. I will just say that this is probably my favorite book I've read this year....more
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