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Treasure
Whenever I go to Los Angeles, my Mom has a list of things for me to do. I’m not complaining. My brother’s list is much longer. This time my task is to clean out a bedroom closet. Not all of it, just a few designated eyesores. One of those items is a beauty case Grandma…
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A Chinese Banquet
Have you ever attended a Chinese banquet? The tables are always round and usually big enough to seat up to twelve guests. You might be in a private room at a restaurant or lucky enough to be in someone’s home. There’s probably a lazy Susan on the table to pass the dishes around. And there…
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Uighur
The third volume of my Shanghai Quartet is set in a Chinese labor camp. Laogai will be a series of interlocking short stories of the men incarcerated in that place. The jailers and the jailed, the victims and the perpetrators. One of the prisoners I’ve simply called the Uighur. He works as an enforcer for…
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Crazy Rich Asians
Regular readers of this blog will know that I’m into all things Asian: the food, the culture and above all its rich, varied, and violent history. Some of you may even have been fooled into thinking that I only care about high brow art and literature. Well, I’m here to burst that bubble. Last weekend,…
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Rewriting History
Last month, I gave a master class on novel writing at the International Writers’ Collective. Because my debut novel is set in Shanghai 1937, we spent a little time talking about the historical research that went into The Dancing Girl and the Turtle. Out of fear of disappearing into the research rabbit hole, I decided…
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Shanghai Mind
To shanghai is to Force (someone) to join a ship lacking a full crew by drugging them or using other underhand means. The word dates back to late 19th century Shanghai and, indeed, all the tropes are there. The drugs, the crime, the indentured service. When we think of the residents of Shanghai, we see…
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Mother Tongues
English is my mother tongue. That’s as much an accident of birth as the result of my parents’ concerted efforts to turn my brothers and me into real Americans. It worked. Neither of my brothers speak any language other than English. And if I hadn’t fallen in love with a Dutchman, I would have suffered…
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Graffiti
When I was a kid in Los Angeles, graffiti was a bad sign. It meant gangs had moved into the neighborhood. Or, at the very least, teenagers with a taste for vandalism. No respectable homeowner wanted to find spray paint on his fence. So you hung up lights and bought a dog. Nowadays, graffiti is…