The book is about a generic Asian man.
It’s about THE generic Asian man.
You know him, the Asian man who lurks in the background of every cop TV, who does not have a line; the Asian man who sits at the conference table but biding his tongue, not sure when to talk; the Asian man, in the last 200 years, sitting at the sideline of the US society, silent.
The book thread a few plots together. A TV extra, Kungfu Guy, his real-life outside the TV, his family backstory, and him as an archetype for an Asian man in this society. Each plot weaves into another, and often don’t know when does the metaphor begins and where it ends. It’s so fun to read along, meanwhile, amazed at the architecture of the story on the side.
As a reader, almost immediately, I am able to identify myself with the main character. Of course, because I AM that generic Asian man. Meanwhile, it’s also because this is a story of the underdog, and I can’t help rooting for the underdog. Later in the book, I’ve gradually become part of the character, uncomfortable about him chasing the “kungfu guy” dream, and not being able to connect with his family.
The ending is an epic court trial, we are on trial for being “missing”, for being “quiet”, for not participating in this society. and yes, we are guilty. It’s a satisfying end, I feel…
