Janie Chang’s historical fiction is always delightful on multiple levels; I learn new tidbits about history even as I get to read about star-crossed romances and young people trying to find their own way amid war and upheaval. The love stories and protagonists in this book are perfectly enjoyable to read about, but for me the surprise was the focus on the Chinese Labour Corps, which I had no idea existed. The Chinese Labour Corps (CLC) was composed of thousands of Chinese laborers sent to aid the British and French governments during WWI, performing essential frontline work such as loading and unloading materials, clearing trenches, and repairing roads; after the war, they were required to stay on for cleanup, recovering bodies and refill the trenches. CLC workers were cheap labor and treated as such, and many fell ill. At the conclusion of their terms of service, most were shipped home, but a few thousand stayed in France and seeded what would become later Chinese communities. The events in Chang’s book directly around the protagonists strain belief a bit, but the glimpse that she creates into the role of Chinese on the Western Front was very eye-opening and well done.
Tag: genre-gen fiction
Girl in Translation, by Jean Kwok
Kimberly and her mother immigrate to NYC from Hong Kong, but immediately find themselves working in a garment factory owned by Kimberly’s aunt, who has meticulously detailed every cent that they owe her for paying their medical bills, travel expenses, and housing. They “rent” an unheated, barely-furnished space from the aunt and Kimberly must find time to focus on school while not helping out her mother at the factory. She has a ferocious academic talent but little knowledge of English, particularly slurred words or slang. I like how the English that she hears is rendered in the closest word approximations she can manage; for instance, when her public school teacher gives the class a map and says to “fill in allde captal see T’s;” understandably, Kimberly is lost. I also love how Cantonese is rendered word-for-word into English in her conversations with other immigrants, not just the slang terms or idioms but simple, common phrases like “come eat rice!” which is the literal translation of “dinnertime!” Kimberly’s rags-to-riches journey stretches the boundaries of belief, but her experience of being caught between languages and cultures is captured beautifully.
Home Fire, by Kamila Shamsie
This book felt like it took several turns; spoilers ahead. It begins with Isma, a British girl trying to enter the US on a student visa, getting profiled for her Pakistani heritage; once in Boston she is delighted to meet Eamonn, another Londoner, but realizes to her dismay that he’s the son of a prominent UK politician whose advice to fellow Muslims is to assimilate as smoothly as possible. Just when you think this might going to be a story about young love finding a way to build tolerance, the story abruptly pivots away from Isma and focuses on Aneeka, her prettier sister back in the UK, whose photo had caught Eamonn’s eye to the point that he goes back to the UK to hit on her, after which they begin a hugely problematic relationship. BUT THEN the story pivots once more to Aneeka’s twin brother Parvaiz, and we get flashbacks to how he was groomed to follow in their dead father’s footsteps towards terrorism. Everything comes to a massively dramatic conclusion. The story has some really poignant things to say about holding true to one’s culture and religion, and how hard Western society bullies Muslims when they don’t conform to cultural norms, but it all gets somewhat lost in the weird structure of the story.
The Lincoln Highway, by Amor Towles
This story comes together so patiently and beautifully that you don’t mind that Towles obviously puppeted all of his characters into their places. The narrative switches between the leads as their storylines intersect, diverge, and braid together again; they observe one another, make piercingly astute observations and conclusions about one another, and then each proceeds to do exactly as he or she pleases. Serious, stoic Emmett, recently released from a boys’ work camp, is determined to do his best by his little brother Billy. Billy, who worships Emmett, is adorably innocent as well as stunningly perceptive; he thinks they ought to retrace their absent mother’s journey down the Lincoln Highway. Their road trip is complicated by the presence of two of Emmett’s former buddies from the work camp, Duchess and Woolly, who have their own ideas of where Emmett should be driving. What ensues is a roundabout journey by car, on foot, and by train that is shaped by accident as well as by intention. The book has weaknesses – coincidences are too pat, and the characters unrealistic in their quirks (even solid Emmett and practical Sally are somehow TOO solid and practical), but the writing is so beautiful that you can’t help but enjoy the ride.
The Death of Vivek Oji, by Akwaeke Emezi
Emezi’s previous novel Freshwater was such an emotional slog that I put off reading this one for a while. Turns out it’s the opposite: a focused, sharp stab of a story that knows exactly where it’s going and what it wants to say. It spirals towards the central fact of Vivek’s death by flipping back and forth between accounts, tales told by various friends, family, or acquaintances. The stories, told both in present or past tense, slowly contribute to the bigger narrative until the reader is finally granted a complete picture of Vivek, the people and the emotions around him, and how everything led inexorably to his fate. Vivek belonged to a community of children born to the Nigerwives, non-Nigerian women who married Nigerian men, and it is their attitudes that help set up some of the culture clash around the concepts of gender, sexuality, and identity, and the danger of trying to live one’s truth in a community where riots and violence seem always just a breath away.
Remarkably Bright Creatures, by Shelby Van Pelt
Small town feel-good fiction, in which an elderly woman named Tova makes friends with an elderly aquarium octopus named Marcellus; meanwhile, young Cameron, who can’t seem to maintain a job or a stable relationship, wanders into town. Of course the lives of all three intersect in a way that the reader can easily figure out halfway through the book, but the characters must bumble around for a few more chapters before they figure things out for themselves. Super predictable and relaxing read; great insights into aging, grief, community, and also octopus life.
One Hundred Days, by Alice Pung
This was a tough book to read. Melbourne teen Karuna lives under the iron control of her mother, a first-generation Filipino-Australian who was abandoned by her Caucasian husband. You know that Karuna gets pregnant despite her mother’s best efforts and has a baby, because the book is narrated by Karuna and addressed to that baby (great framing device, by the way); however, you don’t know how events progress to that point, so you must read on to find out. As Karuna’s pregnancy progresses, her mother responds by exerting more and more control, until she is literally locking Karuna in their flat while she is away. On the one hand this is a touching tale of an immigrant mother’s struggle to do her best by her second-generation daughter, and her daughter’s fight to make her mother recognize her own agency; on the other hand this is also a story of toxic emotional abuse and generational pain, with the background of the sexism and racism directed at darker-skinned people in Australian society. The characters do make peace with one another eventually, but it is a hard and painful fight to get there.
The Goldfinch, by Donna Tartt
I grew to hate this book and seriously considered abandoning it several times, but I somehow made it to the end anyway. The book begins with narrator Theo feverish and afraid, mysteriously unable to leave his Amsterdam hotel. We flash back to when the Theo was a child, caught in a museum bombing whose effects would skew the course of his life; we then follow Theo through an unstable childhood and adolescence defined by substance abuse and bad choices, then into a young adulthood in which he continues to suffer from the same issues, and finally (hundreds of pages and very little character development later) into the frankly ridiculous and chaotic sequence of events that take him to the hotel where we began. Theo is extremely frustrating to read, a character whose musings are occasionally incisive and delightful, but inevitably become self-indulgent and whiny. The only characters I consistently enjoyed reading about were his mentor in furniture restoration (a flawed character but a stable one at least) and his friend, the unbelievable but hugely entertaining Boris, whose life choices are just as bad as Theo’s but who manages not to be a complete drip about everything. Tartt can put words together well but this book is a mess; I am so glad to be done with it.
Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, by Gabrielle Zevin
I began this book and immediately fell into the mental equivalent of a defensive crouch – something along the lines of “oh please don’t be Ready Player One, don’t think to buy my favor with 80s nostalgia while turning a hyper-competent female character into nothing more than a male’s sidekick,” but fortunately the book proved better than that. Yes, Zevin delivers all the lovely 80s nostalgia, but also all the 80s (and 90s, and onward) problems with prioritizing profit over art, rampant misogyny and racism in tech and gaming, etc. Protagonists Sam and Sadie are both intensely flawed creatures whose uncompromising personalities clash constantly with one another, even as their creative geniuses come together to create videogame magic. Both of them make cringingly awful life choices, yet manage to learn and grow without escaping the consequences of their actions. I started out merely tolerating this book but grew to really enjoy it, both for the characters’ journey and the very familiar (to me) details that underpinned it.
Roses, in the Mouth of a Lion, by Bushra Rehman
A vivid portrait of growing up queer and Muslim in Corona, Queens. There’s not a lot of plot to tie everything together; it reads more like a series of reminisces of Razia’s childhood as she watches the people around her. Her schoolmates play pranks; her immigrant parents find their community; there are so many details of growing up in the 80’s that at times I wondered if the book were autobiography rather than fiction. Razia’s best friend is torn from her by a rift between their families; she later transfers to another school and forms a relationship with Angela, who is accepting but has trouble understanding the depth to which Razia’s background and culture shapes her actions. I enjoyed this read but once Razia starts going to school outside her neighborhood, the writing felt much less compelling; as a consequence her relationship with Angela, as well as the resultant tension with her family, felt much less gripping. The ending also seemed a bit rushed. Good read overall though.