Whenever an Asian American writer comes into the sci-fi genre, I am always very excited to see what they can bring to the table as Asians writers in gWhenever an Asian American writer comes into the sci-fi genre, I am always very excited to see what they can bring to the table as Asians writers in genre are few and far between; so I was quite keen on reading Axie Oh's debut novel despite the PR material calling in "Pacific Rim" (dreadful movie) combined with K-drama. Well, I personally would say it is more Power Rangers/Transformers/Avatar: The Last Airbender combined with K-drama, but that is really splitting hairs.
In short, I came into this novel prepared to like it but the short comings sadly outweigh the great potential Oh has as an author. There is very little world building here. Old Seoul is never really described in any kind of detail and Neo Seoul...well, it has a dome and a grid and it is sleek and military. The settings never once come alive in any way and often in the novel (set very far in the future) both cities just feel like present day. We're just expected to imbue these skeleton descriptions with futurism. I really wish Oh had spent more time describing the worlds rather than being stuck in her protagonist's head all the time.
And that's another nit to pick. 1st person, present in never my favorite and this novel is told exclusively that way which really limits it as far as narrative goes. 1st, past would have been a far better choice and omniscient third probably the best. But unfortunately the author saddles herself with this particular point of view.
This is billed as a dystopian novel, but due in part to the lack of sufficient world building noted above, it never feels that way. We should feel and see the oppression of Old Seoul. We should feel and see the arrogance of Neo Seoul. And we should feel one way or the other about both communities. But because Oh never lets old Seoul live and breath, we never get to know anyone there and never do we get to feel their oppression. Likewise, in Neo Seoul, everyone comes off as rather inefficient bordering on bumbling idiots. Sadly, there is no soul in either new or old Seoul and that really lets the novel down.
Characters are also a problem. The really are shells and there is no real depth of emotion. Part of this is that the characters never really talk to each other. Most interactions are "banter" that becomes tiresome very quickly. So they never really rise above stock characters: brooding young man, chaebol, evil father of chaebol's, the evil general (Tsuko? See where I get Last Airbender?). You want to know more about them, but because they never really talk to each other and because you are constantly stuck in the protagonist's head, you never get to.
Unfortunately, the blending in of K-drama doesn't really extend past the stock characters. There are plenty of "Aissshhhh!" and "Ya!" thrown in but the marriage of K-drama doesn't really stand out any other way (well, there is a K-pop singer character who kinda hovers around).
The novel could have used a good editor as well. "One is flung across a chair, which I pull on as I move across the room to open the window." Well, I know I always like pull on a chair. Or "He leans against the wall, slipping it on." Not quite sure how you "slip on" a wall. These are just a few examples of the grammatical errors that pull you straight out of the story and which could have been easily fixed by a good editor.
I think Oh has talent and I hope she develops as a writer, but sadly this one never lives up to the potential of its premise (as thin as that is). At times it reads more like fan fiction than sci-fi. It will likely find an audience in Young Adult, particularly those into the K-pop scene, but I think even a number of YA readers would find this a little bit lacking....more
First and foremost, I must state up front that this work is a novella length work, clocking in at approximately 100 pages. But don't let that dissuadeFirst and foremost, I must state up front that this work is a novella length work, clocking in at approximately 100 pages. But don't let that dissuade you as Milton Murayama packs more into those 100 pages than most novels manage to do in 300+ pages.
This is an outstanding work, capturing so many varied aspects of the nisei (second generation Japanese Americans) experience in Hawai'i during the years leading up to (and including) the bombing at Pearl Harbor. I understand completely why it is considered a classic as it drew me in with its deceptively simple prose, rich characters, and vivid setting, all accomplished without verbosity.
The story is told from the first person point of view of Kiyoshi, the second son in a Japanese family who came to Hawai'i in the 1930s to work on the sugar cane plantations in order to better their lives. His older brother Tosh, is a headstrong young man, the manifestation of the growing differences between the issei (first generation Japanese Americans) and the nisei and as vastly different from Kiyoshi as can be imagined. In some respects, Kiyoshi is stuck between the old ways of filial piety represented by his parents and the birth of a new generation of Americans of Japanese ancestry represented by Tosh. The family is crippled by massive debt and as much as Tosh rebels against the thought of being saddled as first son, Kiyoshi is relatively content in discovering his own role in this new world.
But neither Tosh nor Kiyoshi are stereotypes. As often as Tosh finds the old ways grating and confining, he also find moments of pride in his heritage. Kiyoshi seems more comfortable in the divide between the two generations, seeming to understand the good points of the old ways, but fully aware that his generation is somehow different. Never is the angst in either character over the top, but when Tosh utters the titular line "All I asking for is my body," it packs an emotional wallop.
Murayama wisely chose to keep the narration in traditional English, while much of the dialog is in Hawaiian pidgin creole. This choice expertly creates a realistic setting while brilliantly capturing the differences between the ways the issei and nisei communicate. In turn, this subtly demonstrates the growing divide between the two "cultures."
What also is fascinating is Murayama's depiction of life on the plantation. The segregation encouraged by the luna (plantation bosses) shows us how the different racial communities were often pitted against one another to the benefit of the corporations milling the cane. It is fascinating and realistic to see the way the various races were pitted against one another, methods that resonate in today's political world.
Segregation by debt is also depicted well, the deliberate system of keeping the poor in their place. Kiyoshi's family are trapped in their lives by massive debt and bitterly low wages. It is no wonder Tosh feels suffocated, as if he is in a prison. And that is how it sometimes feels. With the bombing of Pearl Harbor, we as readers know that the internment of Japanese Americans is coming, but in many ways Kiyoshi's family has already been imprisoned from the time of their arrival in Hawai'i by the colonial system.
The bombing of Pearl is handled briefly, giving us the sense of what it must have been like being on a plantation so far away from the actions in the harbor. The event seemed so far away, but had such an impact upon their lives. This is all done subtly, but allows Murayama to explore the effect on the nisei boys. And that reaction is not standard text-book. The reactions are wonderfully varied, reflecting the complexity of emotions in the boys.
Now, I don't want to give the impression that this story is all sturm and drang, some sort of melodrama. It is utterly realistic, but it is peppered with humor and simple beauty. And best of all, within the family, there are no good guys or bad guys. Just a family, trying to make its way.
I highly recommend this book, not only for it's realistic portrayal of plantation life in Hawai'i and of the nisei experience, but for the emotional truth that underlies it all....more
Anyone who knows me knows that I have a strong connection to the Hawaiian Islands and a strong curiosity to read the stories by Hawaiian authors. I'm Anyone who knows me knows that I have a strong connection to the Hawaiian Islands and a strong curiosity to read the stories by Hawaiian authors. I'm not so much interested in the exoticism of the islands as I am the real, true life stories. So when author Lavina Ludlow (novel forthcoming from Casperian Books) suggested the work of Lois-Ann Yamanaka, I was more than willing to dive in.
Now, when authors are new to me, I do not search out any reviews or biographical information before hand as I don't want to color my perception of their work, positively or negatively. So when I looked at the list of Yamanaka's work, this novel was the first listed and so I went with it. And am I glad I did.
Wild Meat and the Bully Burgers is set in and about Hilo, Hawai'i (the big Island) in the 1970s. Our lead is the appealing Lovey (interestingly, one letter shy of Lovely), a relatively plain girl from a working class Hawai'i. As the blurb says, her Hawai'i is not the Hawai'i of picture post cards. Her family are barely surviving financially, unable to afford the comforts that the haole (white) islanders and many of those with whom Lovey goes to school have. This instills in Lovey a somewhat covetous personality. Like all children, she wants to fit in, be smart and popular and have the coolest things. And her attempts to fit in always seem to backfire, reminding her of her "place" in life.
While Lovey is our main character, most all of her interactions within the novel take place with her friend Jerry, a young man with a seemingly unending positive outlook and as much of an outcast as Lovey. Likewise, her father, a nisei (second generation Japanese American), is an important part of their life, their relationship at times wonderfully close and at other times strained by Lovey's desire to be more than who she is.
At its heart, this novel is a coming-of-age book, the journey of a young girl who is just beginning to grow up and realize what really is important in life. But what this story also is is the story of a young woman and the men in her life...Jerry and her father. While her mother, grandmother, aunty and sister are indeed in her life, the focus always returns to Jerry or her father. While I would have enjoyed seeing more of Lovey's relationship with the women in her life, the richness of her interactions with the men in her life is outstanding and full. One (especially one of the male gender) comes away with a strong understanding of the bond between father and daughter. And blessedly, Yamanaka makes that relationship utterly realistic.
Lovey's relationship with Jerry is wonderfully imbued with a strong sense of what friendship is. As in reality, sometimes the two can't stand one another. They fight and get jealous of one another, but in the end, they always end up together. Truly wonderful.
One of the things about Jerry that was missing for me is the implication that Jerry was gay. The blurb indicates that Jerry is effeminate, implying homosexuality. I didn't particularly see this to be true. Yes, he does play Barbies with Lovey, his interest are a bit off the beaten path compared to other boys, and both he and Lovey are constantly call derogatory names for gays by the "cool kids," but he never read as particularly effeminate or gay to me. In some respects, I would have like to have seen that dealt with more, but when I came away from the novel I realized that whether Jerry was or wasn't gay didn't matter. Because it didn't matter to Lovey. The only thing that mattered was their friendship. I walked away finding that refreshing.
In this novel, Yamanaka touches on a lot of issues. Classism. Racism. The loss of cultural heritage and homeland. But she deals with hem subtly and always in context of the story. We absolutely feel for Lovey when she is made fun of. We get angry at her when she picks on others from a different cultural background. Our heart aches when her father tells how his own father never saw Japan again before he died. It is all beautifully done.
Yamanaka also captures the spirit of the island. She doesn't do this by describing details of the locales, but rather by the use of Hawaiian Creole (pidgin) in the dialog and the prose. The result is a vivid portrayal of time and place that feels like home for us non-Hawaiian readers, yet is different enough so that we know we aren't in our own home. Likewise, Yamanaka brings emotional truth to the story, a universality that draws us to each of the characters. In the end, while we know we aren't a teen Japanese American girl, we understand and can empathize with all she is going through.
For those readers who grew up in the 70s, there is a lot here that will let you take a stroll down memory lane and which helps to provide the emotional connection to the characters. Yamanaka gets all the details right, from Bobby Sherman to wax coke bottle candies.
Perhaps the best thing about this novel is that while Lovey is covetous of those around her, her life is allowing her to build something more precious than the right clothes or the right tape recorder...she's building memories that will last forever.
I can not imaging coming-of-age novels getting any better than this and I can not recommend this book more strongly....more
What is so remarkable about Alexander Chee’s debut novel Edinburgh is that he does what is so very difficult to do: he takes what is ugly and despicabWhat is so remarkable about Alexander Chee’s debut novel Edinburgh is that he does what is so very difficult to do: he takes what is ugly and despicable and creates a compelling, utterly truthful and, yes, an even beautiful story of it. By interweaving his prose with Korean folklore, Chee imbues the novel with an almost dreamlike state, one where the dream is equal parts part nightmare and a rose-tinted remembrance of a childhood gone too quickly.
Aphias Zee (nicknamed Fee) is a 12-year-old singer in a Maine boys’ choir where it is revealed that the choir director, Big Eric, is selectively choosing boys from the group, grooming them and then subjecting them to frequent sexual abuse. As the book progresses we see the relationship Fee has with the other boys in the group and his especially strong connection with one of Big Eric’s favorite boys, Peter. We are drawn in and feel the pain Fee does when he sees what the choir director is doing, understanding it for what it is, but not being able to distance the sexual abusers’ horrible acts from his own emerging homosexuality and his own attraction to Peter.
But what Fee--who is a mix of Korean and Scottish parentage--also cannot reconcile for himself is the fact that he isn’t like Peter, he isn’t fair-haired and therefore isn’t one of Big Eric’s favorites. In this way, Chee explores two fascinating and remarkable aspects of Fee’s life: the complexity and emotionally confusing relationship the abused can sometimes have with their perpetrator, as well as the devastating feeling of being an outsider, of being a young child who doesn’t look like the majority of others. It is a fascinating dance that Chee performs and he does it subtly, with characters and prose that are rich and full and deeply human.
Years later, when Fee is grown--having barely survived a deeply self-destructive period--the unease of his youth hands like a storm cloud over his present. He begins teaching at a prep school where he encounters an appealing student named Warden. With this turn of events, Chee brilliantly weaves in an impending sense of danger that permeates the latter half of the book. We worry for the grown Fee. We feel for Warden. The result is a deeply complex set of emotions the reader is put through: we dread Fee’s attraction to Warden; we sense Fee’s deep need to pay a penance for a sin he did not commit; we know the danger if Fee goes down the wrong path; we understand the guilt Fee carries for surviving what others did not. It is a brilliant balancing act, showing us with complete, subtle honesty how the effect of sexual abuse upon a child can sometimes linger long into adulthood.
Edinburgh is not an easy read. Those who have survived such childhood traumas may especially have a difficult time with it, but the story and the dynamics between the characters are truthful, sometimes beautiful and other times terribly ugly, and the novel is--when all is said and done--masterfully written and flawlessly executed. A fascinating, compelling and moving work that should not be missed. ...more
An outstanding literary debut by playwright Han Ong, Fixer Chao manages to be a brilliant satire of the excesses of elitist Manhattanites in the late An outstanding literary debut by playwright Han Ong, Fixer Chao manages to be a brilliant satire of the excesses of elitist Manhattanites in the late 90s, while at the same time managing to be a riveting portrait of a failed American dream. Darkly funny and at times very touching, this novel delves into many themes and is a roller coaster of a ride for both us and our protagonist
William Narcisco Paulinha is a simple, humble man, an immigrant for whom the American Dream has fallen terribly short. Smarter than his circumstances would indicate, William is a thoughtful man, one who would rather devalue himself than others, a mind-set completely opposite of the cut-throat world of Manhattan in which he lives. These days, he types manuscripts for aspiring writers, a much better job than his previous outing as a hustler turning tricks in the Port Authority bus terminal. Lonely and frustrated, William is above all a man who wants to do good, and he is on the verge of turning his life around when a fateful meeting takes place.
One night, at a seedy bar William frequents, he meets Shem, an abrasive, bitter man recently thrown out of his home by his wife, the daughter of a famous novelist. Shem is a social climber (though not terribly good at it), a struggling novelist and a relatively unsuccessful author of celebrity profiles. Having never quite fit into Manhattan’s elite, Shem has a plan, a way to exact revenge upon those who see themselves better, smarter and more talented than poor old Shem. Knowing the lemming like quality of the city’s upper crust, Shem knows exactly where to hit them, right in their own naiveté. His targets have all the right clothing, the perfect cars, the buzz-inducing interior designers, but most of all they have the desire–no, the absolute need–to be at the forefront of the latest trends, every hot “new thing.” Shem has everything he needs to succeed, everything except the Chinese man who can pull it all off.
Shem propositions William to take part and become William Chao, a Feng Shui expert from the mysterious East. Shem explains that all William need do is learn a little about the ancient art and ingratiate himself to the elitists to whom Shem will introduce him. From there, it is simple…enter into their homes and do exactly what they want. Arrange their homes to capture the chi, make their living spaces a conduit for successes even beyond their own imaginations. And when he has won their trust, when their lives are on the upswing because of Master Chao’s remarkable gift, pull the rug out from under them by doing one thing wrong. Leave out one simple aspect–a mirror is the wrong place, a bed facing an open doorway–something small that will cause their lives to unravel.
William agrees and embarks upon an adventure that works perfectly as he–no, his alter ego, the Fixer Chao–is lauded and rises to the level of celebrity, the man who can make everything right, the Master whose ancient art can only improve one’s life. But just as William becomes enamored with his new persona, with his life amongst the well-to-dos, and starts believing that he does have the “gift,” Shem reminds him that it is time to turn the tables. A deal is a deal after all.
Slowly, Fixer Chao weaves subtle mistakes into his work, things no one–especially those who truly know nothing about so mysterious and alluring an art–will notice. And lives begin to unravel. Is it because Master Chao has the power, or is it simply the upper crust’s own foibles leading to their downfall? Even William is not quite sure. But just when everything is working perfectly, William meets Kendo, the moody, sexy, appealing son of one of Fixer Chao’s most famous clients. And when Kendo catches on to William’s real identity and the game he is playing, more than just Kendo’s mother’s life begins to fall apart.
For me, Fixer Chao was a book I just didn’t want to see end. Ong’s style is seamless, his words deftly drawing not only a caricature of the time, but a rich life into which one is absorbed. He balances the opulence and excesses of the high-life in Manhattan with the dreary reality of William’s real life, and in the process creates two completely opposite worlds co-existing in the same space. The character of William is almost an anti-hero, someone who is terribly flawed, but someone for whom you just want everything to turn out right. And when William meets Kendo, the spark, the attraction is palpable. You just want them both to get together, get away from the shackles of their respective lives. But this isn’t a fairy-tale. There isn’t a happily ever after here.
Ong has a masterful hand at the prose, rich without ever falling into excesses. He draws his characters fully, with a deft hand, and makes us care about them despite ourselves. The result is a truly satisfying story with wonderful social commentary. It is a story about a twisted sort of love…the love of self, the love of the spotlight, the love of success, but over all, this is a biting satire about the lengths anyone can go to when they are tempted…or naive enough to believe. This isn’t a romance by any stretch, but if you like your gay men complex, funny and a little bit messy, this is highly, highly recommended and one of my essential gay-themed books.
dear mr. montgomery clift, i want one thing only. please bring my mama back to me. safe. with no more bruises. i will wait one week. if December 4, 1976
dear mr. montgomery clift, i want one thing only. please bring my mama back to me. safe. with no more bruises. i will wait one week. if nothing bad happens then i know it is ok to write you. Sign bong bong luwad
With that one child-like letter, author Noel Alumit sets a haunting tone that carries on throughout his remarkable debut novel, Letters to Montgomery Clift. But not only does that letter mark the beginning of the story, it is also the start of a long and sometime intimate relationship that young Bong Bong Luwad develops with Mr. Montgomery Clift, the dead, sexually confused actor who starred in such films as From Here to Eternity and The Search. But don’t let this tone fool you. Letters to Montgomery Clift is not a downer of a book. It is at its heart a story about love, about growing up and coming out, about enduring and overcoming, and, most of all, about going home.
We learn that Bong Bong’s story starts before he discovers the cinema persona of Mr. Clift and, in fact, before he ever comes to America. Born in the Philippines during that country’s most repressive regimes, Bong Bong is witness to the thugs of Ferdinand and Imelda Marcos beating his mother and father, both democratic activists, and carting his father away to some unknown location. His mother, fearing for her boy, manages to smuggle Bong Bong out of the Philippines, sending him to live with his auntie in the United States of America and vowing that she and her husband will join him there soon. It is a promise Bong Bong holds onto dearly as the first people in his family begin to “disappear.”
In Los Angeles, Bong Bong lives with his Auntie Yuna, an abusive, alcoholic woman whose life has not gone as she thought it would. Though life with her is fairly toxic, Bong Bong is still with family and he knows deep down that it won’t be long before his Mama and Papa come for him. But when time passes and life with Yuna becomes more and more unstable, Bong Bong begins to wonder just when his parents will fulfill their promise.
One night, the devoutly Catholic Yuna tell young Bong Bong about why she prays, how she prays. It’s better, she says, to write them down, otherwise the prayers just go from your head into thin air. And it is even better to send the prayers to dead relatives because, Dead relatives already know you and you know them. People will do things for people they know. God knows everyone and treats everyone the same. I want to ask a favor from someone who will give better treatment.
Not knowing any of his relatives, Bong Bong doesn’t know to whom he should direct his prayers. Then one night, while watching The Search on television, he is struck by the kindhearted soldier, played by Mr. Clift, who cares for a young boy until his mother returns. Bong Bong decides that if Mr. Clift helped that young boy, surely he would so the same for him. Mr. Clift becomes his patron saint, and Bong Bong begins writing prayers to him, a habit that will continue for years and become very nearly his only means of emotional support.
Auntie Yuna, Bong Bong discovers, is also somewhat of a busy-body, constantly keeping an eye on the rather attractive man next door and his floozy (to her anyway) girlfriend. While she wishes the man’s attentions were being paid to her, Yuna tells Bong Bong that the man is evil. Through the wall, Bong Bong hears the sounds that Mr. Evil and his girlfriend make at night and becomes fascinated with the man, spying on him at one point because he wants to see what evil looks like. Mr. Clift…evil is real good looking. Soon, though, Bong Bong, Mr. Evil and his girlfriend become friends, and Bong Bong finds a support sorely lacking in his life. That is until Mr. Evil gets a job that transfers him away, and yet two more people disappear from Bong Bong’s life. When Auntie Yuna vanishes, too, on her way to a liquor store, Bong Bong is left alone to fend for himself until showing up on Social Services’ radar.
Cut off from all family, absent parents whose love he is beginning to doubt, Bong Bong is shuffled from bad foster home to bad foster home. Ultimately, he lands with an affluent Filipino-American family and though the situation seems ideal, the hole in Bong Bong (now rechristened Bob) only widens, and slowly his need for Mr. Clift becomes desperate, all-consuming, obsessive-compulsive. As he grows into adulthood he becomes as self destructive as Mr. Clift had been, and when he discovers that his new family has skeletons of their own in their closet, everything comes to a boil. His life—and sanity—starts spiraling out of control. Where does Bong Bong go from here? Can Mr. Clift save him the way he did that little boy in the movie? And whatever became of his parents who never, ever seemed to want to come to him.
Alumit packs a lot into this novel—the political climate of the Philippines, the cultural significance of religion in Filipino families, self abuse, mental illness, teen pregnancy, burgeoning awareness of sexuality, but never once does it feel crowded or overwrought. More importantly, it never gets in the way of Bong Bong’s story. Each of these things is simply an aspect of his life, the multitude of things that swirl about him. The focus remains solely on our protagonist. Part of this is due to Alumit’s expert use of clean, simple language. Bong Bong’s voice does indeed “change” as he gets older, but the author always keeps the prose sharply focused and to the point, and the letters to Mr. Clift which start each chapter give a cohesive feel even as the character’s narrative voice grows up.
Alumit also has an expert eye for real-life dialog and the little details that make up lives. The result is that the setting and the characters are full without feeling overworked. And we are treated to a protagonist who is eminently appealing and someone you want to root for. You hurt for him when things are bad and brighten when something good comes his way. But this also extends to even the less immediately likable characters such as Auntie Yuna who, despite her problems, the reader is never made to despise her. In fact, you develop an empathy for this broken woman, and though it is not easy, you can even come to forgive her a little for her foibles.
And when it comes to Bong Bong’s parents, by their absence they become as strong a character as any other in the novel, their spirit omnipresent. It’s remarkable that characters who appear so briefly in the novel seem to grow as the story does, and your feelings toward them shift as does Bong Bong’s. One moment you love them and the next, you hate them for leaving their son alone.
Perhaps the strongest relationship in the book is the relationship between Bong Bong and Mr. Clift. For an illusory relationship, it is a strong and appealing one. Bong Bong finds in him a saint, a friend, a mentor, a lover, a father and a faulty role model. Clift becomes the mirror for Bong Bong, the sole source of support, and a measure of comfort. And then he becomes a crutch that Bong Bong simply can’t let go of, because he cannot deal with someone else in his life diasppearing.
Something wonderful about this book is that Bong Bong—unlike Mr. Clift—never seems conflicted about his sexuality. Certainly, he has issues around it, but as for angst over being gay, Bong Bong is remarkably free of that, a fact I greatly appreciated. In a very real sense, this is a coming of age story, but it is not as so many novels people with gay characters, a sexual coming of age.
Alumit dedicates his book “To those who have Disappeared,” and loss—loss of family, loss of political freedoms, loss of human contact—is the driving theme of the novel and it is what defines Bong Bong Luwad, at the very least, in his own mind. Despite this and to Alumit’s immense credit, although the novel can be an emotional roller coaster, the loss is balanced with an optimism which at times seems to defy logic, almost crossing into faith. As bad as things get for Bong Bong, there is still that faint glimmer of hope burning in him that refuses to be snuffed out, a hope that pushes him to move forward and yet drives him to the brink of insanity.
By books’ end, Alumit has taken us on a terribly affecting emotional journey of sorrow and loss and joy and resignation, yet the hope pervading the novel resonates deeply, ultimately creating a remarkably uplifting story of love—for one’s family and for one’s self—of growth and of survival and new beginnings.
It is a novel for which I have great fondness and respect and I cannot recommend it strongly enough.
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