Context and perspective
In the spring quarter of my freshman year, I desperately searched for a class to fill my A&H credit with a good enough professor so I wouldn’t fall asleep. I didn’t have a preference for the subject, as my past few quarters had taught me that even the most interesting topic can be made painfully tedious with the right professor. Looking through the endless list of courses, I was drawn to one in particular – Asian American Literature. I wasn’t a huge reader since most of my day were now taken up by work, school, and other obligations, but the reviews for the teacher spoke for themselves; I had to take this class.Â
My professor, Shawn Wong (you can Google him!), quickly became one of my favorite professors at UW. He had a passion for the subject that I had never found in a professor before due to him being one of the very reasons why the subject of Asian American Literature existed in the first place. His relentlessness in searching for Asian American authors when his professor told him that there weren’t any pushed him to get previously overlooked Asian American authors’ work to be brought back into print, bringing a new life to Asian American history.Â
Historically, Asian Americans have been rejected from society. Legislation and social views have alienated the Asian populations in America, telling them that they were too “different” to assimilate into American Society properly. The role of the Model Minority has been shoved down our throats, leading to isolation from both a greater society and the Asian American community if not conformed to. Understanding the history that the Asian American community has gone through is the first step to breaking out of this mold and taking power in our identities. One of my favorite novels covered in this class, Interior Chinatown, explores this idea.Â
A brief breakdown
Written by Charles Yu, Interior Chinatown explores the Model Minority myth and the societal limitations this seemingly perfect role can create. It employs a screenplay style that mixes reality and the TV show our protagonist is in, blurring Willis’s true identity with the one society wants for the camera.Â
We begin with our protagonist, Willis Wu, on the set of a detective TV show, “Black and White.” At the beginning of our story, Willis is a simple background character with dreams of becoming the “Kung Fu Guy,” the role that his father once held. It’s clear from the beginning of the novel that “Kung Fu Guy” is not something to be desired. It is derived from mystical ideas of Chinese “magic,” with the role not even having a name, carrying no humanity to the person playing it. This, along with the role of “Big Brother,” embodies the Model Minority myth and the idea of the “Perpetual Foriegner” that our character must overcome and face.Â
Throughout the novel, we see Wayne transition from nameless role to nameless role, with him sacrificing his family in pursuit of the grand “Kung Fu Guy”. Yet once he obtains his goal, he finds no true happiness, just the void of the sacrifices he made to get there. Once abandoning his role, he is persecuted for his own disappearance. It’s a clever mix to represent the abandonment of his role in the show and society, with our final cutscene exploring our protagonist’s flaws and the problems that the Asian American community has that allow the continuance of the Model Minority Myth and the idea of Asians being perpetually foreign.Â
My take
There is much to praise about this novel, but one of my favorites is its clever use of chapter breaks and quotes that parallel themes in the story. One of the most impactful was the one before the final chapter: state laws limiting Asian American immigrants’ rights to property, marry, and work, with the last line from the Immigration Act of 1924 altogether banning immigration from Asia.Â
Reading this before our final chapters puts the persecution of American Americans in the United States in the forefront of our mind as our protagonist begs for his innocence, not just for his disappearance, but for his attempt to conform to a society that “never wanted him.” Knowing its historical context, it’s a hard-hitting fact, and it still sticks with me today.
Writing this review, I hesitate to dive too deep into the moments that moved me. This novel manages to make a commentary about the place that Asian Americans have held in society for far too long in a way that both educates on the history of the community and carries emotion that makes you feel almost sick. Rereading the final scenes of this novel almost a year after I originally read it impacts me just as much, if not more, than when I originally did. Its raw exploration of themes of generational sacrifice, identity, and historical discrimination is genuinely a work of art. For any person who has struggled with their identity, especially as an Asian American, Interior Chinatown will be a worthwhile read.Â