A few months ago, I gave a talk on Publishing Your Way as a Change Maker at a Cornell Lunch and Learn webinar. That talk connected me with one of the founders of 8Asians.com, who frequently gets contacted by publicists with information about new books coming out that feature Asian voices.
It has been really interesting to see promotional emails from publicists. Through them, I get a glimpse into how the publishing industry packages books. And to see so many new books coming out by Asian authors–it makes my heart soar.
The first book I chose to review for 8Asians.com is DAUGHTER OF SHANDONG by Eve J. Chung. Out of all the books that came across my email, this one stood out because it spoke to my own desire to learn more about what my family went through in post-WWII China. (In fact, the first few pages I wrote on this topic got me selected as a finalist for the PEN America 2024 Emerging Voices Fellowship.) I opened the book hoping to learn how best to transform a memoir into a historical fiction. Then from the first sentence, I was hooked. I devoured the book in 2 days. When I wasn’t reading it, I was thinking about it. It changed the way I view myself and emphasized the unique situation of my own family (which did the exact opposite of what her family did in the book).
Here’s the review I wrote, yet to be published on 8Asians.com, but I got permission to post it here as well.
Book Review for Daughters of Shandong by Eve J. Chung
In Eve J. Chung’s debut novel, a young girl embarked on a grueling journey to escape post-WWII communist China with her mother and sisters. The book comes in four parts: 1. Life in a family that owned land (地主) in Zhucheng, Shandong—where her kind mother is abused by a vicious mother-in-law—followed by mother and daughters’ journey by foot to Qingdao after being abandoned by the rest of the family. 2. Surviving in Qingdao through the kindness of relatives as they seek train tickets to Hong Kong. 3. Life in a refugee camp in Hong Kong as they seek news of their family who had fled to Taiwan. 4. The hesitant reunion with the family who abandoned them, and the continuation of the pattern of abuse along with change through the generations in response to trauma.
While the book begins like a trope in Chinese dramas, the touching story is one that resonates with many Chinese families. Those who stayed, survived, and rebuilt, or those who fled with or without their wealth; all who lived through that traumatic era of revolution have a story to tell. And yet, not many are willing to tell that story. In most instances, keeping your mouth shut was the best way to survive, and that instinct has endured through the years. The author broke through such barriers by supplementing family accounts with historical research, painting a vivid picture that not only brought the plight of one family to light, but provided the social, political, and cultural background that gave people a better understanding of China during that era regardless of how much they knew when they picked up the book. The author’s work as an international human rights lawyer also lends credibility to her understanding of the historical plight of women and refugees around the world.
As much as I loved this book, the spelling errors and formatting inconsistencies of Chinese words did bother me a bit. I’m hoping it’s because I’m reading an early version of this book and such mistakes are fixed in later versions. These errors are probably not something that would bother the average reader. However, having spent a lot of time figuring out how to effectively represent Chinese words in my own books, I’ve become extra sensitive to such details. From the very first sentence, sìhéyuàn was spelled shiheyuan, and persisted for the rest of the novel. The transliteration of Chinese words and names sometimes were by pinyin rules, and other times were based on spellings popular in Taiwan. (Yei Yei instead of Yéyé, the Chiang surname, Chiao, etc.) It’s a difficult decision to make, as many words accepted in English are oftentimes based on spellings that came out of Hongkong or Taiwan (Kuomintang as opposed to Guómíndǎng). The consistency of italics, spaces, and dashes are additional decisions that add to the complexity.
The perfectionist in me annoyingly interrupted the story every time it spotted an inconsistency, but the rich and heartfelt voice of the narrator pulled me right back in again. These details, while annoying, did not take away from the heartbreaking beauty of the story being told. Plus, the author brilliantly depicted a colorful cast of characters, allowing me to visualize them in their movements and speech as if I could hear their dialects and accents in Chinese.
The story is told with a sense of urgency, in a voice that draws you in, that welcomes you like a long-lost family member from whom you can learn the secrets of past generations. I highly recommend this book.