(To buy this book, click here.)
Ren Yu– daughter of Chinese immigrants, indifferent high school student, favorite pupil of her lecherous coach, unrequited love of teammate Cathy’s budding lesbian life — knows deep down that she’s really always been a mermaid. The Pennsylvania suburbs are a bit far from the beach, but Ren feeds her true self on swimming pool chlorine and strengthens it by spending her entire childhood and adolescence obsessively becoming the type of elite swimmer college scouts drool over.
Blurbs and summaries of this book had me expecting a fairy tale. I went in expecting magical realism, mythology, and cultural redemption. I was not expecting to throw the book down after the last line and shout “GIRL ARE YOU A MERMAID OR JUST DEAD?!?“
That’s not a spoiler, by the way. The first page of the book sets you up to wonder and the story never really answers you, because it turns out this isn’t a fairy tale after all. It’s a manifesto, a pissed-off mermaid-as-metaphor for confused queer femme Chinese American coming-of-age that whaps you over the head with pure rage in the first chapter and never really lets up, even in its many sad moments.
There’s a lot of craft on display here. Song has a strong voice that rings with the sort of complex imagery that speaks to deep intercultural understanding and hours spent redefining literature for oneself. This is the kind of book that will probably eventually be taught in English classes and dissected endlessly, word by word.
There’s a sense of importance in this book and its themes. There’s also a sense of exhaustion and overwhelm. It wasn’t written to or for me, I don’t think, so I hesitate to criticize it just because it’s about a heaviness I’ve never been asked to carry. I do feel like I should tell you all that this wasn’t a fun read. It was challenging and intense and very, very, proclamative, but if you’re expecting mermaids and positive self-discovery, that’s not what this is. If you’re a queer Asian woman who needs your own rage and self-determination acknowledged and affirmed, this may be your book. If you think the original ending of Andersen’s Little Mermaid is the only one that makes sense, you might dig this, too.
A clean tampon, a new swimsuit, and a healthy appreciation for the human body to Chlorine.
(Fellow readers! I’ve had a lot of health and work things going on lately, but my end-of-year promise to myself is to blog more and better. In the meantime, thanks as always for reading. If you want to read more stories of Asian-Americans, please check out my booklist (East) Asian People, (East) Asian Cultures, (East) Asian Diasporas at the Equal Opportunity Bookshop. Reminder that we have an affiliate relationship with that site and any purchases you make will result in a commission being paid into the Equal Opportunity Book Fund. Now, go read something good! Peace!)
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