Francie Lin's first book is quite a novel. The Foreigner refers (probably, among other things) to the fact that its chief character—a Chinese-American male who goes to Taiwan, home of his now deceased mother—is a stranger in a land that one might not think should be strange. The fact is, of course, that he is racially Chinese but not culturally so.
I lived on the island of Taiwan for two years, and although I have some strong memories of that experience that is now more than 30 years old, I did not recognize much of the description as Emerson Chang, Angel, Atticus, and Little P race around Taibei, getting deeper into trouble and getting closer and closer to discovering the answer to the mystery that swirls throughout most of the book.
Ms Lin begins the book with a quotation from Confucius to the effect that one should always honor family ties before ties to the state—no wonder the anti-Confucius movement of the late Mao period. It is Chinese—indeed, Asian—to do so, and Emerson had been brought up with this belief, even if the words of Confucius never actually reached his ears. Whatever conclusion you draw from reading the book, you'll have to admit that the book shows how much trouble this can bring you.
I won't claim that I felt close to Emerson Chang. Chief character or not, he is not the stuff of Raymond Chandler or Dashiell Hammett. He's lucky to be alive, and while that can often be said of many of our mystery heroes (if they are so alive) at the end of their stories, Emerson contributed very little to his own survival. And he drinks too much. And other things.
But once again, the details of life and the fluidity of Ms Lin's prose make this less than heroic tale an otherwise satisfying read. It is not a travelogue concerning Taiwan. She doesn't pause to describe some famous or interesting place (if you've heard her speak, you'll know she doesn't pause at all), as more leisurely writers will often do, because the story of Emerson and his mother's ashes presses on.
Every reviewer I've read so far has suggested a sequel. I think that Ms Lin seemed surprised at that and, indeed, she can continue writing—even about Taiwan—without involving Emerson again. But the pull of a series—at least, for audience appeal—is strong, so we'll see what she gets up to. This is a tough business to succeed in—there are so many writers and fewer, it would seem, readers every day, and the unquestionable quality of Ms Lin's writing will be no guarantee that she's publishing ten years from now. I hope so.
Ms Lin's writing of the expectations of our ancestors for our own lives, that immortality comes not from the individual but from family, brings to mind a stanza from a poem by that great non-Chinese poet, Garrison Keillor:
God, rest their souls on a golden shore,
God, bless us who struggle on.
We are the life that they longed for,
We bear their visions every day.