3. 84, Charing Cross Road

By Helene Hanff

2. The King in Yellow

By Robert W. Chambers

Saw this hardcover edition while browsing Walden Pond Books in   Oakland.  We (the Purves-Brebner clan) were in the area to pick up a Christmas tree at Brent's near the Grand Lake Theatre and had also consumed some delicious Asian-inspired pastries at Bake Sum.

So yes, I saw The King in Yellow and got Olman to pick it up for me as a Xmas present.  I also found a used copy of The Tokyo Zodiac Murders, which happened to be on Olman's list.  Too bad for him though, finders keepers!
I first heard about The King in Yellow as a literary influence on True Detective S1, and it's been on my list ever since.  

Recently, I acquired a HP Lovecraft box set under purely consumeristic circumstances. I was taking advantage of Black Friday sales to do some early Xmas shopping and Indigo had a sale on Kpop albums, which is what my daughter is into collecting now.  Albums qualify for shipping, but I needed another $12 to reach the minimum amount for free shipping.  I saw that certain paperback box sets were half price so I got a HP Lovecraft box set for only $12.50 and as a minor horror buff, I've always been curious about his work.  Anyway, I was aware that author Robert Chambers was an early influence on Lovecraft, so I thought it was a nice coincidence when I saw this nice Pushkin Press edition from 2017 at Walden Books.

The King in Yellow was my first completed book in 2026 (not counting The Antifa Comic Book) and I was able to finish it within a few days.  It's really a collection of four short stories.  The original 1895 publication contained more stories but apparently it's just the first four that are thematically connected by a cursed play called 'The King in Yellow' which somehow ends up in the hands of various characters. When someone reads the second act, terrible things befall them, ie. they start losing touch with reality and become haunted by a ruined, mythical city called Carcosa, unwittingly serving a cult-like deity known only as Hastur, the Yellow King.  Apparently, the world of Carcosa was inspired by Ambrose Pierce. 

The first and probably best story was "The Repairer of Reputations".  The setting is a dystopic 1920s America that has become quite militaristic and Randian (before Ayn Rand and the military-industrial complex came about).  People of Jewish descent and other undesirable foreigners have been deported and a state has been established for African-Americans. The narrator, Hildred Castaigne, observes the official opening of a "Lethal Chambers" at a public park in Manhattan, for anyone who wants to painlessly end their life so as not be a burden on society.  We soon learn that our dear Hildred is not quite right in the head.  Not only had he suffered a head injury from a fall, he had also been committed for a period of time inside an asylum.  At some point he had also read "The King in Yellow" and often visits the creepy Repairer himself, a Yellow King devotee who happens to live above the store that's run by the father of his brother's fiancée.  I like the part when Hildred thought he was alone inside his shabby apartment admiring himself in mirror as he wore his golden crown but when his brother came upon him, he was really just wearing a cheap, dime-store trinket. The reader is basically plunged inside the unraveling mind of a man who's becoming more and more paranoid and deranged until he commits a terrible act.

As a Goodreads reviewer wrote: it is a bracing and imaginative bit of darkness on the page and, to me at least, quite wonderful. the style is so breezy, the pacing so brisk, the imagination so fertile and so oddly modern, the experience was pure pleasure. it is hard to believe that this story was written over a 100 years ago.

The next story, "The Mask", was ok and probably my least favourite as it was more melo-dramatic than creepy or chilling.  It takes place in Paris and involves a love triangle between young painter named Alec, a sculptor and would-be alchemist named Boris, and their love interest, Genevieve.  Boris has discovered or created a magical solution that can transform any organic object or living thing into lightly veined white marble.  It's unclear how the golden liquid came about, but it's strongly implied that it came from the same world that brought about "The King in Yellow".  Tragedy soon befalls the hapless trio. 

Next was "In the Court of the Dragon", also set in Paris, about a man pursued by a sinister church organist who is after his soul.  That pretty much sums up what is probably the shortest of the four stories and the least developed.

Last was "The Yellow Sign" and we're back in Manhattan (Greenwich Village) in "contemporary" times, ie. the 1890s. This time, an artist and his model are troubled by a sinister churchyard watchman who resembles a "plump white grave-worm".  Tessie keeps having the same recurring dream where she sees Scott lying inside a funeral casket being taken away by a horse-drawn carriage.  As their relationship develops, Tessie gives Scott "a clasp of black onyx, on which was inlaid a curious symbol or a letter in gold", which she happened to find one day near Battery Park.  Then soon after, Scott finds The King in Yellow in his collection, "a book bound in serpent skin, standing in a corner of the top shelf of the last bookcase." It is, inexplicably, "The King in Yellow", a book he has studiously avoided: "If I ever had had any curiosity to read it, the awful tragedy of young Castaigne, whom I knew, prevented me from exploring its wicked pages."

So we have come full circle, and our two young lovers are doomed towards a sad demise. This wiki site has a good plot summary.

The King in Yellow collection was an enjoyable read.  I did not expect it to be so readable.  TBH, I expected it to be less accessible and weirder, because after all, The King in Yellow is supposedly a classic example of weird fiction.  The stories were macabre in tone, full of creeping dread and gothic romanticism, with characters who are often artists or decadents, inhabitants of the demi-monde.  But the supernatural or occult references were very subtle and minimal.  This was not a bad thing, just not what I expected.  Still, very glad I read this.
 

1. The Antifa Comic Book (Revised & Expanded)

By Gord Hill

In mid-November, Olman and I visited the Expozine Fair. It used to be conveniently held in the Plateau inside a church basement but in recent years it's been taking place further north, like the Villeray area.  

This year's fair was really crowded - at least during that Saturday afternoon.  I was hoping to look at some D&Q publications but their tables were packed making it hard to stop and browse due to the steady motion of moving people.  There wasn't anything that stood out for me as I circumnavigated the crowded space.  

I finally found refuge at the Anarchist Bookshop section as they had arranged their tables into a C-shape, so that I could actually take my time in their little area, which was thankfully empty of people for some precious minutes.

This was how I came upon The Antifa Comic Book.  I didn't buy it right then and there though it was the only item I ended up purchasing at the fair.  The guy manning the table was friendly and handed me a flyer for a left wing book sale happening the following month near Metro Pie-IX. I didn't stay long at the Expozine fair as it was impossible to browse at your own pace without being jostled, or having to side-step someone, or wait your turn to do anything. I ended up leaving and met Olman near an Asian import shop in St-Hubert Plaza that was going out of business. We had tacos at a Mexican deli mart down the street.

The Antifa Comic Book was first published in 2018, and the copy I got was the 2025 revised and expanded edition containing new material that depicted events such as the 2021 U.S. Capitol attack, the 2022 convoy protests in Ottawa, even the 2017 mosque shooting in Quebec.  You could also tell which entries were new by how the graphics had been illustrated. The newer pages (like the one on the right) were drawn with thinner black lines and printed with less saturated colours compared to the older pages (like the one on the left). 

There was an odd entry that didn't seem to fit with the previous content in the Canadian section. It went from a brief history of fascist movements in Canada (from 1930-1990), the A.R.A Toronto (Anti-Racist Action), and then the following page portrayed the 2011 Norway Attacks -- when a far-right extremist set off a car bomb in Oslo, then traveled to a Labour Party youth camp on the island of Utøya and went on a shooting spree killing dozens of people, mostly teenagers, simply for being "privileged" progressives.  Then the pages went back to the USA.  So the Norway section was an add-on and should've followed after Sweden.  Pragmatically, it was probably simpler to append the new pages rather than insert them between older sections, even though content-wise, it didn't make sense geographically.

In any case, I'm really glad I picked up The Antifa Comic Book.  Many reviewers, like this one, agreed how timely a book like this is during these turbulent times.  It was a fascinating read and very informative, covering key historical moments, like the birth of anti-fascist movements in Nazi Germany, continuing into the Spanish Civil War, even touching on the Second World War’s British Blackshirts and Anarchy in the U.K. and ending on Trump's presidency and Elon Musk taking over Twitter. It also gave an overview of the rise of nationalist right-wing groups on a global scale and how they use propaganda and technology to spread their ideas.

Even though I was already aware of how easily democratic freedoms and rights can be taken away, how important anti-fascist movements are and how history is always repeating itself, the book really helped give me a clearer overview by portraying key historical events and how it led to our somewhat frightening world situation today. 

Back in September, a certain so-called US president issued a statement defining “Antifa” (which hardly exists as a formal organization) as a domestic terrorist organization.  Hmm, I wonder why.  So much crazy shit has gone down since then, it's been overwhelming and fatiguing.  Minneapolis had been under seige by ICE since December and barely a week had passed in 2026 when a number of American citizens got shot and killed by ICE agents, most notably a mother.  And now so-called POTUS is obsessed with buying Greenland. Greenland! It just never ends, and there are no limits to what the wrong people in power can and will do.

Other things I learned from The Antifa Comic Book:

• It was Mussolini who granted state sovereignty to Vatican City. I had always assumed this as done centuries ago, but turns out this was done as recently as the mid-20th century.
• This I already knew, but the book confirmed that it's always the privileged and wealthy (monarchists, industrialists, aristocrats, high-ranking military and police officers, church officials, nationalists) who tend to fund and/or establish fascist movements.  Today, the list includes tech oligarchs and corporate billionaires, like Ronald Lauder (CEO of cosmetics giant Estée Lauder) who gave DT the idea of acquiring Greenland as he has vested interest in Arctic expansion and access to resources.
• I did find one small factual error. The July 24 mass stabbing in England that resulted in the deaths of three little girls did not happen at a school, but at a dance studio that was having a Taylor Swift theme day.  I could see how "school" was a quicker way to summarize the incident as it involved elementary school aged girls, but it wasn't accurate.

I'm certainly now interested in checking out The Anti-Capitalist Resistance Comic Book by Gord Hill.  The question I have though is, can I be anti-capitalist and also still love shopping? 

18. The Ant World Chronicles (Book Two)

By JH

17. The Midnight Library

By Matt Haig

It’s nice to read an international bestseller now and then, to consume something "of the now" so I can feel like a part of the crowd or something (and also have an opinion if the occasion arises).  The Midnight Library was one of two bestsellers I’ve read this past year (the other being Gone Girl).

 

The Midnight Library was also chosen for the last book club meeting at my workplace.  Although I haven’t participated in the book club for some time (I tried once with Wherethe Crawdads Sing),seeing that they were doing The Midnight Library spurred me to read it on my own as I had a copy thanks to my last visit to Encore Books.

 

As expected, The Midnight Library was an easy, breezy read.  It was like a “feel-good” version of Ken Grimwood’s Replay.  Instead of dying of a heart attack at 43 and waking up 25 years earlier in your younger body with all your memories intact over and over again, with each "re-awakening" having the opportunity for a do-over, Nora Seed overdoses on sleeping pills and ends up in The Midnight Library, a magical place containing an infinite number of books each representing a parallel life of yours had you made different choices, big or trivial.  The library is managed by someone who was dear to you (in Nora’s case, her school librarian Mrs. Elm, and is also a place where time stops at midnight as you hover between life and death.  While you’re in this state, you can slip into another version of your life in a parallel universe simply by choosing a book and reading the first line.

 

What reminded me of Replay was in one of Nora's lives as a glaciologist, she met a man named Hugo, who was also a “slider” or “life jumper”.  He had the same ability as her, except that he’d done this a lot longer, having sampled dozens, if not hundreds, of lives.  Instead of a library though, Hugo’s quantum Shroedinger-esque in-between state was represented by a Midnight Video Store.  Pretty cute, huh?

 

While Replay was an awesome sci-fi/fantasy novel, The Midnight Library was appealing and cute, as author Matt Haig clearly had aspirations for his novel to be inspiring, life-affirming, etc. etc. I've read feel-good books that have really rubbed me the wrong way, like The House by the Cerulean Sea, which I truly regret reading.  Had I known it was going to be such a saccharine piece of tripe, I wouldn't have read it.  Actually that's not fair to tripe, which I would've probably derived more enjoyment out of consuming.  But The House... was something that would've belonged in my very own Book of Regrets.  Or more like Book of Books I Regret Reading!

 

In any case, I don't regret having read The Midnight Library. It was better written than The House by the Cerulean Sea, and I even got emotionally caught up in parts of it.  Also, Matt Haig is really British while TJ Klune is American trying to write British.  I also, by default, like any book featuring a cat.  Still, The Midnight Library had its flaws.  There were parts that were a little too simple, or indulgent, or went on for too long.  For example, the part where it listed all the lives that Nora lead.  Whatevs - I just skimmed that section.  Also, some of the lives Nora lead were a little far-fetched.  In one life she was the Olympian swimmer she could’ve been. Ok fine. But in another, she was a famous rock star who was as big as Radiohead (and had dated a famous Hollywood star)!  Some metaphors were also a little too pat.  Like the protagonist's name, for instance.  Nora Seed.  She has to experience the multiple branches of her life before she can truly appreciate her “root life”.  Get it?

 

I can also see how The Midnight Library would’ve been The House by the Cerulean Sea for some readers, as it really does over-simplify the complexities of why someone would want to end their life.  One Goodreads reviewer summed it up nicely:

I liked this book until it suddenly decided to moonlight as a self-help manual, replete with messages that would look great and profound on an Instagram post next to a well-posed cup of coffee with those foam pictures on top. Or embroidered on a pillow — pick your poison.

And these messages have the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

Another Goodreads reviewer also had a good point about how The Midnight Library could even be problematic in regards to mental illness:

I also have issues with the core messages in this book. Nora finally learns her lesson, but it's only after having fixated on each regret, remade every decision, and lived all subsequent lives. Like come on, at some point, you just have to be okay with who you are and the decisions you've made without knowing every single possible outcome.

 

But my biggest issue is that I'm really uncomfortable with this book's implication that if you're depressed, you only need to change your mindset and you will feel better. That goes against everything we understand about mental illness, including that it's important to seek professional help, that it can be chemically based, and that it's not a matter of not trying hard enough.

 

We already have enough trouble as a society getting depression and mental illness taken seriously, without a "feelgood" book coming along and implying that you need nothing more than an attitude adjustment to cure it. That puts the blame squarely where it doesn't belong, on the hundreds of millions of people who are suffering from depression. But it isn't just the layman who harbors such misunderstandings. It also includes people who work in the mental health field, and even some therapists and psychiatrists. So you can understand my dismay at the continued popularity of this book, which further perpetrates this extremely toxic point of view 

In any case, I wanted to get this review done so I can pass this book on, probably resell it even.

 

 

16. The Woman in Black

By Susan Hill

15. straydog

By Kathe Koja

Last summer, we were going to meet friends for dinner on Main St. and made a point of stopping by Pulp Fiction about an hour earlier to browse a bit.  Olman, unsurprisingly, found a small stack of paperbacks.  The owner was there and I overheard Olman asking him if he happened to have anything by so-and-so, etc.  At some point, I'd been browsing their new books section, and thought I’d inquire if he had anything by Kathe Koja.  He immediately replied with “Oh, I know I don’t have anything by her and probably won’t ever” implying along the lines that she’s been long out of print and her books are hard to find. 

 

His know-it-all, somewhat dismissive tone did not inspire me to argue with him, yet I knew there have been at least one recent reissue of her work, namely her most well-known novel, The Cipher, which was how I became interested in her in the first place. A simple google search also revealed that Skin had been reprinted in early 2025 by the same Meerkat Press who had released the 2020 reissue of The Cipher. If the owner had been doing his job properly, he would have had copies of Skin and The Cipher in the new section!  Even the Pulp Fiction homepage proclaims:

While our corporate competitors "diversify" away from print into bath towels, candles, chocolates & blankets, we're sticking with what we do best: an unrivalled selection of new, used, & out-of-print books chosen by readers, not algorithms. 

What’s more, I found out later that several paperback editions by Koja are available at corporate candle-and-chocolate seller Indigo Books, so what gives, other than the fact that the Pulp Fiction guy was an ignorant idiot!  Which brings me to Straydog (2002). I was looking at ordering the Graphic Novel Builder  via my neighbourhood bookstore for my daughter’s upcoming birthday, but that's when I discovered Straydog was at Indigo and because D&Q didn’t have Straydog, I ended up ordering both books from Indigo.  TBH, Koya’s oeuvre is a little too out there for me, but I would probably read Skin. Straydog appealed to me more because it was marketed as a young adult novel. 

 

A high school outcast, Rachel, volunteers part-time at an animal shelter after school. She develops a bond with a feral collie that was recently brought into the shelter. While writing a short story to submit to a competition, she begins to identify with the dog to an almost hyper-obsessive degree. 

Koja has a cult following primarily due to her uncanny ability to portray the outcast in society -- warts and all. Anyone who’s ever been in the fringes throughout high school would identify with Rachel's internal monologue, her harsh assessment of the popular kids, her unspoken longing to belong somewhere and her fear of connection because it’s just so damn strange and unfamiliar.  I believe I would have identified with Rachel had I read this in my early teens.

 

Straydog explores adolescent coming of age in a way few YA books have, then and now. It’s very realistic, and not always pleasant to read.  Even though it features a kind of meet-cute with a fellow outsider and new boy, Griffin, Rachel ends up sabotaging their budding relationship as well as her volunteer job because she’s a flawed, complicate and very emotional teenager.

 

I’d be interested in what my soon-to-be 13yo daughter would think of straydog (note to self: I have put the little paperback in her bookshelf).  She may find it a bit ordinary and too real at this stage in her life, but maybe this is something she'd appreciate more in a year or so...

14. Gone Girl

By Gillian Flynn

 

13. The Annotated Gilmore Girls: Footnotes to the TV Series

By Anonymous

 The Annotated Gilmore Girls

12. Interior Chinatown

By Charles Yu

I'd only heard of Interior Chinatown vis-à-vis the recently released TV series starring Jimmy Yang and Donny Chieng (with a fair amount of Asian Americans as major creatives).  I was spurred to seek out the book when my friends John and Christine had started watching the show, and promptly borrowed a hardbound copy from my neighbourhood library.

 

Within the first twenty pages, Interior Chinatown was already a let-down. I was able to finish it within 3 days, mostly due to a lot of page-skimming, and how the bulk of the book was written like a screenplay.  The central theme of internalized racism in Chinese American men was explored in such a simplistic, repetitive, and heavy-handed way.  Interior Chinatown could’ve been more relevant had it been published twenty, even ten, years ago, but in 2020, it seemed dated somehow.

 

Perhaps the book had the bad timing of being released on January 28, 2020, just before the Covid pandemic fueled anti-Asian racism.  Many people, Asians and non-Asians alike, experienced a crash course on institutional racism, white supremacy and identity politics.  But even if COVID had never existed, Interior Chinatown was still painfully cringey in its portrayal of internalized racism through the POV of a struggling young Taiwanese-American man. 

 

Willis Wu dreams of being the star of his own show.  The show, known as Black and White, is fictitious, but it’s also the world that Willis inhabits, which is a construct, just as Chinatown is considered a western construct 

because its spatial and cultural boundaries were largely defined by the dominant Western society, which isolated and exoticized Chinese immigrants and their communities. These enclaves functioned as "other" zones, concentrating negative stereotypes about Chinese people into a single, contained, "Oriental" space. While originating as a reaction to racial exclusion, Chinatowns have been transformed into sites of commodified culture and tourism, and their meaning continues to be debated by diasporic and neoliberal forces. 

The television show format is also a metaphor of what the American Dream means for Chinese immigrants, especially the First Generation descendants, who don’t fit into mainstream society, ie. black and white.  Willis longs to be Kung Fu Guy, but due to external and internal forces, is always relegated to Generic Asian Man, or Oriental Guy Making a Weird Face, or Guy Wo Runs in and Gets Kicked in the Face.  As an Asian man, Willis is invisible in the world of black and white. 

 

The problem with Willis is that being Kung Fu Guy is his only M.O.  He has no other interests, other than comparing himself to others.  Unlike Willis, the mother and father are given a bit of backstory, which is well-written in prose, but you wish for more, as the prose is the only opportunity to imbue some depth into the thinly drawn characters.  We know Willis' dad loves to karaoke to John Denver, but what does Willis love?  Eventually, Willis meets a Pretty Girl of mixed Asian-ancestry and he becomes Asian Dad.  But he’s still obsessed with being Kung Fu Guy, his unconscious desire to assimilate into white dominant society.  Yu attempts to consider the POV of others, but barely.  Willis is not just obsessed with being Kung Fu Guy, he’s obsessed with how the system is rigged against him.  By the end of the story, he learns a painful lesson.  But the reader has to suffer through Willis’ narrow, colonized mindset, which gets tiresome real fast.

 

I’m sympathetic to the plight of the Asian American man.  I know there are many who are like Willis Wu.  But I’m not sympathetic to whiny self-involved, narcissistic behaviour. During the COVID pandemic, I was on a FB group that offered a platform to talk about Anti-Asian racism in Montreal. I ended up discussing with other women about their experiences being exoticized or harassed as an Asian woman.  A Chinese guy went on, saying how this is nothing compared to what Asian men have to go through, how they have it much worse, how he’d get beat up, bullied, etc.  Basically, being resentful and minimizing our experiences.  Thankfully, quite a few women did not let him off easy and gave him a piece of their mind.

 

I just don’t see how Interior Chinatown would help this guy, or if he’d even bother reading a book like this.  Taking a look at the first few pages of Goodreads reviews, the readers were primarily made up of white men and women, and East Asian women, but I couldn’t find a single review from an Asian male.  If Yu wanted Asian-American men to be his target audience, he failed.  Maybe Asian men don’t read these kinds of books, probably preferring to escape into well-written fiction!

 

I think if you were quite ignorant of American history and the current socio-economic realities of minorities, it would be eye-opening, but Yu kept repeating his central theme over and over.  So much so that there was very little substance in the narrative or in the character of Willis Wu, who merely served as a Cipher for the author to ram home his points.  Worst of all, Yu committed the greatest crime of all by shoehorning didactic expository monologue literally spelling out its central themes (in case you hadn’t caught on to what the book was about from page one), as well as a quick history lesson, into the bogus court room scene towards the end of the book!

 

Here's an example.  When the judge asked Willis what he had to say for himself, Willis finally spoke up in a monologue that reminded me of America Ferrara’s painfully didactic speech from the Barbie movie:

 

It sucks being Generic Asian Man. But at the same time, I’m guilty, too. Guilty of playing this role. Letting it define me. Internalizing the role so completely that I’ve lost track of where reality starts and the performance beings. And letting that define how I see other people. I’m as guilty of it as anyone. Fetishizing Black people and their coolness. Romanticizing White women. Wishing I were a White man. Putting myself into this category… By putting ourselves below everyone, we’re building a defense mechanism. Protecting against real engagement. By imagining that no one wants us, that all others are so different from us, we’re privileging our own point of view.

 

Yikes. Ugh. I'm sorry, but this was Just. So. Bad.  There was also another passage that struck me:

 

But how often do you, or you, or any of us think the thought, I’m an Asian man? Almost never. Not until someone reminds you. Some guy bumps you at a bar, and makes a comment. Or you overhear some people talking, and one of them says, oh, our Asian friend so-and-so. And in that moment, we all become the same again All of us collapse into one, Generic Asian Man.

 

This insight is objectively true – anyone who’s a “visible minority” would not normally self-identify as “I’m Korean”, or “I’m Columbian” while going about our day-to-day lives.  Like anyone else, we see ourselves as individuals, ie. “I’m Stephanie.”  It's the structured racism that always reminds us of our place in "Western" society.  

 

However, this is not the case for Willis Wu, who's always obsessing about his own race!  For the past 200 pages, he has been constantly reminding the reader how he’s Background Oriental Male or Generic Asian Man Number Two/Waiter.  He never sees himself as Willis.  Even people with internalized racism don’t think like this.  You can't sympathize with Willis because he's never portrayed as an individual at all, he's simply a Cipher for All Asian American Men.  And he was annoying as f***.  

 

I was really surprised Interior Chinatown won the National Book Award.  I suppose this makes sense in the context of mostly white foundation members who may not read a lot of Asian American literature… but, that can’t be, as there has been decades worth of excellent Asian American literature exploring the immigrant experience with real depth and nuance that is sorely lacking in Interior Chinatown.

 

I still plan on watching the TV series though, as adaptations can sometimes do something more, or different, with the source material.

 

This Goodreads review summed up my feelings about the racial politics of Interior Chinatown really well:

 

Cringey and anti-Black. I'm so disappointed.

First of all, placing an asian sadboy (lmao) into a "White and Black" cop show is soooo "bbbut what about Asians??" whiny. The narrative that "yellow people are forgotten in a white-and-black-world" idea is so problematic. To complain that Black people get to be represented in the media more, when in reality they are stereotyped and relegated to minor roles even when they are represented, is dismissive, self-centering Asians at the expense of other minorities, and completely ignores our own active role in racism and violence against Black people in America. We, as Asian people, are and have always been anti-Black as fuck, and now we're complaining that Black people are more visible than us?

 

This book gives me very "pick me" vibes (along with a lot of recent Asian American literature, to be honest) and its popularity makes me extremely worried about the future of Asian American racial politics and our continued obsession with "existing" in America while putting down other minorities and doing nothing to acknowledge or remedy our own anti-Blackness.

Secondly, stop romanticizing Chinatown. It's a real place with real lower and working-class Chinese immigrants. In real life, post 1965 Hart-Cellar Act educated Taiwanese immigrants like Wu's family would have CHOSEN not to live there because they have the capital to live in wealthier neighborhoods with better schools. They aren't forced to live there because of racism. This is dangerously rewriting history in a way that lumps together the educated Asians of today (like the author himself who went to UC Berkeley and Columbia Law School) who are not invisible and are doing quite well in society, with the true lower and working-class Asian immigrant diaspora.

Also the switching between screenplay and prose was weird.