Short Girls

I read Short Girls by Bich Minh Nguyen, and it’s like talking with a girlfriend who really “gets” me. Someone who understands where I’m coming from. She speaks the life of children of Asian immigrants. The burden and weight of filial piety. The perpetual translator syndrome. The pain of watching racial prejudice toward your own family members because they are more fresh off the boat. Self questioning and sense of betrayal in interracial dating in a white world. Subtle attitude differences between say, a third generation versus a first generation immigrant. The achievement trap when the track leads to an racially isolated middle class pond.

The novel is not just filled of angry vents like my blog. Nguyen is a crafty storyteller. Her voice filled with humor and story arc that wraps around her main characters’ last name “Luong.” The plotline rotate around Mr. Luong’s garage built grabber for short people “The Luong Arm.” The divided living experience of tall and short people is explored without shame. Finally, somebody takes battle with the insanely high vertical standard of kitchen counters at 36 inches and ceiling height cabinets at 7 feet.

At times she struggles to smoothly explain the angst of modern Asian American trials and over works with preachy immigration policy lectures. I can sympathize with her difficulties in delivering our complex grievances. Nguyen weaves racial injustice, immigration law cases, modern girl relationships, family obligations, generational and cultural gap, all within a storyline. That’s one big task.

If you want to give a shout out to modern Asian American women, it’s not Amy Tan’s bittersweet escape from communist regime and concubine stories. Read Short Girls.