Tag Archives: Non Fiction

March 2, 2024 · 10:44 am

Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing

Celebrity autobiography about TV fame, drug addiction and mental health

There have been a lot of celebrity biographies coming out recently, and I’ve listened to Jennette McCurdy‘s and Prince Harry‘s as audiobooks. When I saw that this one had been published, I was pretty interested. Just about everyone has watched the TV show “Friends” (enjoy the now retro Blu-ray trailer!), and the character Chandler was one of the most iconic of the series. When actor Matthew Perry died recently, almost a year after it was published, and it came up on my recommended list, I picked it as my next audiobook.

Image is of the audiobook cover of “Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing” by Matthew Perry. The audiobook cover is a portrait photograph of a white man with blue eyes, stubble, ageing skin and greying styled hair. He is looking at the camera with an almost smile. The words ‘A Memoir’ are on the left.

“Friends, Lovers and the Big Terrible Thing” written and narrated by Matthew Perry is a frank memoir about his life and how he came to be one of the most famous actors on one of the most watched television shows of all time: “Friends”. Perry writes candidly about his experiences growing up in Canada, the child of two charismatic parents whose marriage ended, and his early forays into acting, alcohol and drug abuse. Perry charts his path to winning the role of Chandler on “Friends”, and how despite his immense professional success, he nevertheless continued to struggle with addiction and mental health issues.

I think one of the best things about this memoir that makes it stand out from others is that despite Perry’s fame, it isn’t ghostwritten. Perry has a humorous, self-deprecating way of writing and pulls the reader in with intimate revelations about himself and his life. One thing that has frequently frustrated me with the memoir genre is authors sharing either not enough or far too much, and I felt like Perry really struck the right balance. As challenging as he clearly was as a person (to others but mostly to himself), self-sabotaging constantly and pushing people away even when he was at his most lonely, he makes the reader feel like a confidante. I enjoyed his narration a lot, though I did find it less clear and articulate than his delivery of lines while he was on TV. I was impressed that despite his own frequent relapses, he nevertheless strove to inspire hope to other people struggling with addiction.

It was a bit of a strange experience listening to this book shortly after the news broke that Matthew Perry had died. It really made me read into what he wrote a lot more. While Perry doesn’t claim to have the answers to addiction, the end of the book certainly suggests he is on an up, and suggests that his own brand of spirituality has helped him. However, I think this book really underlines the message that addiction is a disease, often a lifelong one, and there is no easy cure. Perry wrote a lot about his parents, colleagues and former girlfriends, many of whom witnessed his struggles firsthand, and I did find myself wondering how honest those reflections were. Some seemed a bit rose tinted, some seemed a bit unfair and I found myself wondering how the celebrities mentioned would have received it. I think it’s difficult to criticise something so subjective as what causes a person pain and trauma, but as a reader it is a bit hard to accept things that seem relatively minor when that person enjoys enormous success and wealth and has access to the most expensive and cutting edge treatment available. Perry does come across as one of those people who spends an enormous amount of time self-reflecting, but who never seems to gain any real insight into their behaviours and motivations.

A forthright memoir about privilege, success and struggling with mental health.

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December 11, 2023 · 11:10 pm

The Hope Raisers: How a Group of Young Kenyans Fought to Transform Their Slum and Inspire a Community

True story about the impact of rollerblading on children in the biggest slum in Nairobi, Kenya

I received a copy of this book courtesy of the author.

Image is of “The Hope Raisers: How a Group of Young Kenyans Fought to Transform Their Slum and Inspire a Community” by Nihar Suthar. The eBook cover is of a group of young children in bright clothes rollerblading on a dirt road beside some ramshackle houses.

“The Hope Raisers: How a Group of Young Kenyans Fought to Transform Their Slum and Inspire a Community” by Nihar Suthar is a non-fiction book about two friends Daniel and Mutura in Korogocho, the largest slum in Nairobi, Kenya, who start a band called the Hope Raisers to try to inspire change in their community. Soon they start involving the local kids in art initiatives, but then one day, after finding a pair of discarded rollerblades, they set up a skating group.

This was a really great book about inspiration and persistence, as well as sharing the reality of living in poverty in Korogocho. I actually was sent this book shortly after I had taken up rollerblading again as an adult, and it was really fascinating reading about their journey learning to skate while I was doing the same thing. However, the difference between my experience and their experience could not have been more stark. One of the parts that stayed with me was that rollerblades and wheels were so difficult to obtain, that instead of skating on four wheels, the Hope Raisers would remove two wheels from each skate and share them between the children. The shortcomings of their equipment becomes even more apparent when some of the young people start competing, but their resilience is unparalleled. I especially loved reading about Lucy whose talent and hard work saw her competing at an international level.

Photo is of a pair of pastel rollerblades taken from a top down view, feet wearing pastel socks and pastel kneepads.

A heart-warming and informative read that is ideal for any rollerblading or rollerskating enthusiast.

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July 15, 2023 · 10:15 pm

Where’s My Jetpack? A Guide to the Amazing Science Fiction Future that Never Arrived

Non-fiction book about why the inventions we imagined don’t exist yet

There is no question why I picked up this book. It has the most incredible metallic blue tinted edges and even though I don’t frequent the non-fiction section at the Lifeline Bookfair very often, this clearly caught my eye. It’s a nice short book with large text: ideal for the Short Stack Reading Challenge.

Photo is of “Where’s My Jetpack? A Guide to the Amazing Science Fiction Future that Never Arrived” by Daniel H. Wilson, PhD. The paperback book is leaning against a black PC case that has glowing blue lights inside it and a lit up mouse and keyboard reflected on the panel. The cover is silver and black with a figure in a jetpack shooting up amongst skyscrapers and a zeppelin. The smoke from the jetpack is blue. The book has shiny metallic blue tinted edges.

“Where’s My Jetpack? A Guide to the Amazing Science Fiction Future that Never Arrived” by Daniel H. Wilson, PhD is a non-fiction book about a range of imagined inventions from science fiction designed to help with transportation, entertainment, superhuman abilities, household tasks and space travel. Wilson dedicates each chapter to an invention, explaining the science behind why it is not yet a reality.

Although this book was published in 2007, it is surprisingly still relevant. With humour and surprisingly good science communication, Wilson carefully explains the history of each idea, what would be required to get it working, progress so far and what is standing in the way – be it viability, money or will.

While I remember enjoying the book while I read it, I didn’t feel like I retained a lot of information from it. I think I would also like to see an updated or revised edition that takes into account scientific progress over the past 17 years.

A fun and informative book for sci-fi and non-fiction buffs alike.

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May 12, 2023 · 2:08 am

Agatha: The Real Life of Agatha Christie

Biographical graphic novel about famous crime fiction novelist

I picked up this book at a Lifeline Bookfair, I think. I haven’t read much of Agatha Christie, but a lot of my family members enjoy her work, especially her books about the Belgian detective Poirot. A graphic novel sub-genre I’ve enjoyed previously is graphic novel biographies with one of the best being “Anne Frank: The Anne Frank House Graphic Biography” which includes the incredible story of her father Otto Frank. I must have picked this one up some time ago, and decided to read it during my Short Stack Reading Challenge. I actually had a lot of trouble getting the right photograph for this review. I’ve been in the UK and Belgium, and tried to take photos at a library hotel, a comic book museum and even a comic-themed hotel. I’m not really happy with any of them (and was disappointed I didn’t see any Poirot statutes or anything in Brussels) so I’ll just include them all and be done with it.

Photo is of “Agatha: The Real Life of Agatha Christie” by Anne Martinetti, Guillaume Lebeau and Alexandre Franc, and translated by Edward Gauvin. The paperback book is resting in front of windows made of carved stone. The cover is of a red-haired woman looking out at a city nightscape with a pen to her mouth. There are searchlights in the sky.

“Agatha: The Real Life of Agatha Christie” by Anne Martinetti, Guillaume Lebeau and Alexandre Franc, and translated from French by Edward Gauvin is a biographical graphic novel about the famous crime fiction author Agatha Christie. The story opens with Agatha’s mysterious disappearance in 1926 and the grilling of her husband by police. The story then turns to Agatha’s childhood to follow the journey of how she became a bestselling writer and the events that led up to her disappearance, discovery and life afterwards.

Photo is of “Agatha: The Real Life of Agatha Christie”. The paperback book is sitting below a striped wall with illustrated photoframes that have cartoon portraits inside.

This is an interesting presentation of a biography that takes some creative liberties to share Agatha’s story in a unique way. The art style, while simple, is easy to follow and captures the mood and key details of the era Agatha lived in. Agatha’s life is depicted as colourful and rich, full of inspiration for her stories. The authors made the interesting narrative choice to have Agatha converse with her character Poirot throughout the book: sometimes seeking creative and emotional support, sometimes using him as a soundboard, and sometimes arguing with him about his own character arc.

Photo is of “Agatha: The Real Life of Agatha Christie”. In the background are comic books, out of focus, suspended from a ceiling.

I think while in many ways it is an original way to tell a story, I wasn’t sure that Agatha and Poirot’s conversations always added to the overall story. I appreciate what the authors were trying to achieve but I felt that their characterisation of Poirot, someone very invested in his own story, didn’t really match with Agatha’s own characterisation. The simplicity of the art style and the limited colour palette did make it difficult at times to distinguish between the characters.

A quaint and engaging way to present a biography and one that has inspired me to read more of Agatha Christie’s work.

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March 6, 2022 · 12:32 am

The Arsonist: A Mind on Fire

Non-fiction true crime book about the Black Saturday bushfires

Content warning: fatal bushfires, arson, disability, bullying, references to child pornography

The Black Saturday bushfires were a horrific collection of disasters with an enormous cost that still reverberates across Australia today. Although I wasn’t in Victoria at the time, the most destructive of the fires was right next to where I grew up and right next to the town where several members of my family live. After the fires, when lots of locals who had lost their homes were trying to rebuild, my family’s book charity opened its doors to help replace the books people had lost as well. I have to admit, I didn’t follow a huge amount of the news at the time, I think to be honest it was a little too close to home. However, when I heard about this book and that it covered the trial and conviction of a man found to be responsible for one of the fires, I thought that now, more than a decade later and after the 2019-2020 bushfires, I was ready to listen.

Image is of “The Arsonist: A Mind on Fire” by Chloe Hooper. The audiobook cover is beige with yellow, orange and red watercolour paint bleeding from the top like flames.

“The Arsonist: A Mind on Fire” by Chloe Hooper and narrated by Sibylla Budd is a non-fiction true crime book about the Black Saturday bushfires. The book opens with a harrowing account of the experiences of many Victorians in the fatal Churchill fire complex, including those who lost their loved ones and the detective who begins investigating the case. As the story unfolds, it appears that the fires may have been lit deliberately by someone, and one too many coincidences suggests one major suspect.

This is a thoughtful, considered book that carefully steps through the events of the bushfire with a strong focus on the stories of the people involved. I think the strongest parts of the book were the stories Hooper told about the people most directly affected by the fires. I don’t think I will ever forget the story of the man who lost his wife before his eyes, or the teenager who texted his father goodbye. I think Hooper did try to take a balanced approach to the book by providing a lot of background about the life of prime suspect Brendan Sokaluk and how he spent his days, and acknowledged the uncertainty around intent, capacity and guilt.

However, in some ways this book reminded of “Joe Cinque’s Consolation” and while I think Hooper was more sympathetic to Sokaluk’s background, disabilities and mental health issues than Helen Garner was, I similarly found her coverage of the investigation and trial a bit uncomfortable. One of the things that Hooper talked about at length was Sokaluk’s diagnosis of Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD). Although she did focus on the ways that ASD may have impacted Sokaluk’s ability to understand police interviews, court proceedings and engage with his peers socially, I really felt like she speculated far too much about how his ASD diagnosis led him to set the fire due a particular theory that people with autism who set fires are “mesmerised” by the flames.

I listened to the audiobook so I wasn’t able to tell whether there was a bibliography or not, but Hooper was critical of a psychologist who was a court witness for not telling the court “that psychologists often [emphasis added] separate autistic fire-setters from others who deliberately light fires because some neuro-atypical people find the flames not just mesmerising, but soothing”. In somewhat of a contrasting view, a 2019 paper titled Firesetting and arson in individuals with autism spectrum disorder: a systematic PRISMA review noted that relatively little research has been conducted to date exploring firesetting or arson in individuals with ASD. While the paper did conclude that there may be some ASD symptomology that may contribute to arson, the paper did stress that there is no empirical support for an association between ASD and criminality, and that studies have found that people with developmental disabilities may be more likely to be victims of crime.

After listening to this book, I went back and checked the publication date (2018) because of my surprise at some of the language used. Several times Hooper refers to “Aborigines”. I note that IndigenousX states that this term “has largely disappeared in favour of Aboriginal people/s (except for a few older people who haven’t kept up with the times and a few racist commentators trying to make the point that *checks notes* they are cartoonishly racist)” and that the Australian Government Style Guide acknowledges this term can be offensive and discriminatory. Hooper also several times repeats the slur r*tard as it had been used against Sokaluk. These are words that editors and publishers should really be checking for prior to publication.

I know this review is getting a bit long, but I did want to make a quick mention of the narrator, whose familiar and rather comforting voice initially reminded me of SeaChange actor Kate Atkinson, but was familiar because she is the actor who played Gabby in the Aussie drama The Secret Life of Us. Budd has a very clear, empathetic way of speaking but occasionally I wondered if it was her tone or the text of the book that occasionally felt a little too simplistic.

An important book that provides a lot of insight into one of the multiple factors behind the Black Saturday bushfires and that eloquently and with empathy tells the stories of those whose lives were lost. However, a book that I felt went too far in some of its conclusions and that could have used more rigorous editing for respectful language by the editors.

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April 14, 2021 · 9:10 pm

Growing Up Disabled in Australia

Non-fiction anthology of essays and memoir by people who grew up disabled in Australia

Note: in this review I used the terms disabled person and person with a disability interchangeably to reflect that some people prefer person-first language and some people prefer identity-first language

Content warning: bullying

I received a copy of this eBook courtesy of the publisher. I was really excited to receive a copy of this book because I had read another book in the excellent “Growing Up” series. I also read the editor’s memoir and was very confident that this was going to be a well-curated collection.

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Image is of a digital book cover of “Growing Up Disabled in Australia” edited by Carly Findlay. The cover is white text on a background of blocky paint strokes in pink, yellow and turquoise.

“Growing Up Disabled in Australia” edited by Carly Findlay is an anthology of short autobiographies by 47 disabled people. The contributors, who come from an incredibly diverse range of backgrounds and cultures, have a very diverse range of disabilities and perspectives. There are some well-known people including Senator Jordan Steele-John, and plenty of people who are not so well known but whose stories are just as important.

This is a really well-rounded collection that showcases the myriad of experiences people with disability have in this country. Disabilities can affect mobility, senses, learning, mental health, chronic health and cognitive ability. They can be caused by genetics, illnesses or injuries. Something that I think a lot of people don’t consider is that people may have more than one disability, and I thought that Dion Beasley’s piece To Lake Nash and Back about growing up Aboriginal, Deaf and with muscular dystrophy in the Northern Territory surrounded by love, family and dogs particularly captured this intersectional experience and the importance of accessibility and community. C. B. Mako uses free verse poetry in December Three to succinctly how a person with two disabilities who is also a carer, a parent and a member of the migrant community can be excluded from all of those identities.

This book is full of exceptional creativity and I really enjoyed the variety of styles each piece was presented in. Kerry-ann Messengers two poems ‘Life Goes On’ and ‘The Blue Rose’ explored the depth of emotional reaction, positive and negative, that people have towards her as a person with Down Syndrome. Tim Slade’s poem A Body’s Civil War explores the sense of destabilisation living with auto-immune conditions where your body attacks itself. I really loved Sarah Firth’s comic Drawing My Way which gave a practical example of alternative ways information can be presented to assist people with learning disabilities like dyslexia.

Although there each contributor’s experience is unique, nuanced and impacted by other factors such as race, gender, class and cultural background, there were common themes that wove their way through the book. I was surprised at how many contributors wrote about the significance of animals, particularly dogs, in staving off feelings of isolation and loneliness (though I particularly enjoyed Iman Shaanu’s subversive piece Blurred Lines where she writes “For the record, I hate dogs and would prefer a guide cat if that was a thing”). Hippotherapy by Alistair Baldwin was a particularly wry piece about the ubiquitous experience of horse-riding as an activity for disabled kids. At a time when everyone is talking about vaccinations, it was really poignant to read about two contributors, Gayle Kennedy and Fran Henke, who each wrote about the lasting impact of contracting polio, a disease that has been eradicated in Australia through vaccination programs but that continues to affect people of older generations.

However two of the common themes that were the hardest to read about were bullying and lack of accessibility. Jessica Newman-Marshall’s piece Dressing to Survive describes the cruel judgment and bullying she received as a person with a disability that affects not just mobility but causes her to have a very low BMI in a world that constantly scrutinises women for their weight. Kath Duncan, writes in Born Special about the prejudice and bullying she experienced growing up with missing limbs and reclaiming the word ‘Freak’ for herself.

However not everyone with a disability is bullied. Belinda Downes, in writing about her facial difference and disability in Having a Voice, reflects on how it is not her appearance that has made things most difficult for her, but rather people in her life deciding on her behalf what is best for her in terms of corrective surgery and accessibility needs. In Forever Fixing, El Gibbs writes about living with the chronic skin condition psoriasis and how learning about the social model of disability helped her to find a community and see barriers to access, rather than herself, as the problem.

There are a multitude of other things that I could write about this book, but I will finish off to say that this is an incredibly important work that highlights the fact that there is no single disabled experience and that the biggest barriers for people with disabilities are systemic.

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April 9, 2021 · 11:04 pm

One Small Island

Illustrated children’s book about Macquarie Island

I mentioned in my previous book review that I recently went on a hike in Tasmania. There were lots of fantastic things about this hike, but there were two things in particular I really enjoyed: the collection of books at each hut and the lovely and enthusiastic ranger on our first night who told us about this book.

Image is of “One Small Island” by Alison Lester and Coral Tulloch. The cover is of an island in the distance with an ocean below and the aurora australis above. The book is resting on a handrail with bushland, ocean, coastline and mist in the background.

“One Small Island” by Alison Lester and Coral Tulloch is an illustrated children’s book about the history and biodiversity of Macquarie Island. In particular, the book explores the impact of humans on the island’s delicate ecosystem and the battle to undo the damage done by invading species.

This is a beautifully and intricately illustrated book that captures the dramatic landscape and fragile wildlife with its vivid language. Not only is this a story about a critical environmental issue, the destruction of native flora and fauna due to introduced species, it is also a story with a beginning, a disaster, a challenge and a resolution.

An excellent book for children and adults alike with a keen interest in natural history.

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April 5, 2021 · 9:27 pm

Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail

Memoir about hiking the Pacific Crest Trail

Content warning: drug use, mental health, sexual harassment

I first really heard about this book when I heard Reese Witherspoon’s”excellent speech (transcript here) about her film production company that produced an adaptation of this book. I have read quite a few books now that have been adapted by Witherspoon’s company (“Gone Girl“, “Big Little Lies” and “Little Fires Everywhere“), and this one has been on my list for a while. My friend lent me her copy quite some time ago, and for a while I though I had accidentally Marie-Kondoed it. When another friend invited me to go on a three night trek in Tasmania recently, I felt like it was the perfect opportunity to finally read this book. I had a better look and found it tucked away in my non-fiction bookshelf.

Image is of “Wild” by Cheryl Strayed. The cover has a single hiking boot on a white background. The book is placed between two grey and mint coloured hiking boots, in front of a large blue backpack in front of scrub in the Tasmanian wilderness.

“Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail” by Cheryl Strayed is a memoir about Cheryl, a woman in her early 20s who is spiralling. In the wake of her mother’s death, a broken marriage and a heroin addiction, Cheryl realises that something needs to change. After spotting an innocuous guidebook about the Pacific Crest Trail, Cheryl is galvanised by the goal to hike it alone. With an overweight pack, little experience and only the hope that her pre-packed supplies arrive at post offices along the way, Cheryl is pushed to her absolute limit. Completely alone for a significant part of the journey, she must reckon with her life so far and how she can keep putting one foot in front of the other in the direction she needs to go.

If you ever find yourself on a hiking trip, this is the perfect book to pack. Strayed is an honest and raw writer whose vulnerability and determination make for a compelling mix. While I frequently talk about how I struggle with memoir on this blog, this is the kind of memoir I really enjoy. It reminded me a lot of “H is for Hawk“, blending trauma with literature and a very narrow yet fascinating topic. Although a lot of the book is spent hiking by herself, it is the characters Cheryl meets along the way who really make this book. There is a particular section in the book where Cheryl has overestimated her access to water and is then approached by two terrifying men which was chilling.

When I was on my last day of my hike in Tasmania, I had developed some pretty impressive blisters on the soles of my feet and in between my toes. Although wearing two pairs of socks, taking some anti-inflammatories and applying band-aids liberally had helped, walking was quite painful. Reading about Cheryl’s (much worse) ordeal with feet rubbed raw by ill-fitting boots and her resilience helped me realise that I could get through it too and complete every last kilometre of the walk.

A great companion for hiking that, unlike Cheryl, I declined to burn once finished.

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January 17, 2021 · 12:27 am

Why We Swim

Non-fiction book about the history and psychology of swimming

I came across this book on Twitter a few months ago when the author ran a contest for World Swim Day. I didn’t win, but I was intrigued by the book. I don’t think I have ever been tempted by any book remotely resembling sports biography, but this book hooked me. I was a keen swimmer as a kid and every year trained for months in the lead-up to the inter-school swimming carnival in my local area. I’m a strong swimmer, if not a particularly fast swimmer, and after years of not winning any ribbons in high school I was thrilled to get 2nd place in a race in my last ever swimming carnival. Over the years since then, I’ve come back to the pool again and again and I can still easily swim 1km. A couple of years ago my partner bought me a set of swimming headphones and I even have an aquatic-themed playlist I listen to when I swim. There’s something that draws me to the water, and I was interested to see what drew other people as well. I saw that it was available as an audiobook, so I bought a copy to listen to.

Why We Swim cover art
Image is of a digital book cover of “Why We Swim” by Bonnie Tsui with one arm cutting through water against a navy background

“Why We Swim” by Bonnie Tsui and narrated by Angie Kane is a non-fiction book that blends memoir, journalism and anthropology to explore what it is that draws us to the water. Tsui provides a brief overview of swimming throughout human history using a few modern day examples, and then interviews extreme swimmers including a man who survived freezing Icelandic waters, a woman who smashed international distance swimming records while training to regain mobility and a man who started a swimming school for beginners in a war zone. Alongside this, Tsui shares her own experience as a swimmer and how the joy of swimming connects her with her family.

Tsui is a spirited writer who curates remarkable stories of swimmers who defy the limits. I particularly enjoyed the story of Guðlaugur and the speculation about prisoners who escaped Alcatraz by swimming. I was also fascinated by the history of different strokes and the different types of swimming that emerged through Samurai culture in Japan. The exclusivity of swimming and swimming clubs in relation to gender, race and class in the United Kingdom was also very interesting. There was recently a controversy here in Australia very recently about a women’s swimming pool in Sydney that stated in its policy that only transwomen who have undergone gender reassignment surgery would be able to use the pool. The policy didn’t go into detail about how exactly staff would be checking this, but understandably there was considerable community concern and the Association responsible for managing the Ladies’ Baths has updated their website in response.

In addition to some of the social issues surrounding swimming, Tsui spends quite a bit of the latter part of the book on research about the impact that swimming has on our bodies, and the physical, emotional and social benefits of swimming which really resonated with me. I also found Tsui’s reflections on her own family’s experiences with swimming really touching, especially how the skill and affinity for swimming is being passed on to her own children. Kane was a clear narrator who was easy to listen to.

While this book certainly explores swimming around the world, it definitely has an American focus and a particular interest in exceptionalism. I was probably a little less engaged with the story of a swim school for beginners in Baghdad set up by an American soldier and stories about record-breaking swims than I was some of the others. I was really fascinated by some of Tsui’s writing about human swimming ability and physiology that makes us suitable for swimming, and although it is certainly an extremely contentious theory, I was surprised she didn’t mention the Aquatic Ape Hypothesis just for interest’s sake.

A thought-provoking book that has reignited my enthusiasm for swimming and inspired me to look into distance swimming here in Australia.

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November 24, 2020 · 10:33 pm

The Porcelain Thief

Family memoir about lost wealth and retracing history

I can’t quite remember where I found this book, but I certainly bought it secondhand. Although I often struggle with memoir as a genre, there is a very niche subset of memoir that blends personal history with actual history like “H is for Hawk” and “The Hare with Amber Eyes“. When I picked this up, I remember being intrigued by the premise. As I draw to the end of 2020 and the Year of the Asian Reading Challenge, I thought it would be a really good time to read this book.

Image is of “The Porcelain Thief” by Huan Hsu, a hardcover edition pictured on a wooden table next to a Chinese style white and blue bowl, a ceramic spoon and a chopstick rest

“The Porcelain Thief” by Huan Hsu is a memoir about American journalist Huan who decides to finally take up his uncle’s offer to work in his Shanghai company. However, Huan’s decision is not fuelled by a desire to carry on the family legacy but rather a desire to trace his family’s history and the stories of his great-great-grandfather’s buried porcelain collection. However, once he arrives in Shanghai, things are not so straightforward. Stymied by his patchy Mandarin, close-lipped relatives, family hierarchies and a culture that, after growing up in America, is indecipherable to him, Hsu will have to take some real risks if he is ever going to find out whether the stories about the buried porcelain are true, and whether or not he has a shot at finding it himself.

This is a complex and challenging book. Through Huan, we see that navigating family history is indistinguishable from navigating family. Despite Hsu’s excellent research skills honed through his career as a journalist, this book is at heart about relationships and identity. Hsu is unflinchingly honest in his writing, especially about himself, the criticism levelled at him by his relatives, and the mistakes he makes in his quest to return to his ancestral home. Some of the most powerful parts in the book were the clashes Hsu has with local Chinese people in which American-born Hsu is certain of his cultural and moral superiority. It was interesting seeing this approach mellow as the book progresses and Hsu realises that if he wants to succeed, he will need to befriend more locals and defer to their cultural expertise. Another powerful part of the book is the rift that forms between Hsu and his very elderly grandmother over her reluctance to discuss what happened after the family fled their home, and the way it mirrors the rift that formed between his grandmother and her own grandfather, the patriarch of the family, so many years earlier. I really enjoyed reading about how his grandmother and her sisters and cousins got an education, and the generally good-natured feuds between his uncles and between himself and his own cousin.

This is a well-researched book and Hsu weaves family history with China’s history. Understandably, among the relatives and old neighbours that Hsu interviews there are significantly differing accounts of the family history, the character of his great-great-grandfather and the stories of the lost porcelain. To try to make sense of the different histories, Hsu traces each relative’s story from the source: his great-great-grandfather. While this structure had logic behind it, it made for difficult reading. It felt like Hsu was rehashing the same experiences over and over from slightly different perspectives, muddling the central narrative which I think should have been his own experience. I completely understand the desire to show off all the research that he did, but I think a book like this needs to be really carefully curated. I was hoping that everything would come together in the end, but the ending itself was a bit disappointing as well.

A fascinating, touching and at time frustrating book that I think could have benefited from a structural reshuffle.

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