Lin borrows from and builds on Stein’s form of autobiographical, memoir writing as she authors The Autobiography of H. Lan Thao Lam from her partner’s perspective. While the book unfolds unchronologically, the narrative opens with a focus on Lin’s young adult life in 1988 New York as a Taiwanese American who will come to self-identify as a person who is queer and gender nonconforming. As she lives in the center of the art world, Lin’s loneliness and litany of anger in her 20s will dissipate, if not entirely, then at least in part. Working as a film editing professor, Lin encounters her long-term partner, Lam, a Vietnamese then-Canadian person who also self-identifies as queer and gender nonconforming. She covers topics including mangoes, 9/11, cancer and health advocacy, marriage, visiting one’s old homes, self-presentation, Covid, La Jetée, sea turtles, and herrings. In later chapters, Lin emphasizes Lam’s childhood years in Sài Gòn, their family’s migration to a Vietnamese refugee camp in Malaysia when Lam is 12, and subsequent resettlement in Montréal, Vancouver, and Sauga. Lin and Lam endure their respective maelstrom of disorienting experiences, and the two will come together to ground the other and themselves in their Washington Heights and CT homes.
With both vigilance and reverie, the author examines Lin and Lam’s ethnic, national, gender, sexual, and familial identities in the context of their work as artists and, most notably, their romantic relationship. Invoking significant moments in their lives before and after becoming a “we,” Lin shares memories with a rhythmic propulsion, either from her or Lam’s perspective, blending memoir, history, and cultural critique, focusing on Taiwanese and Vietnamese personhood, trauma, and resilience. Perhaps The Autobiography of H. Lan Thao Lam is considered genre-bending due to its format (admittedly, the third-person writing took me a minute to get oriented to). I expected the work to center on Lam’s coming-of-age story, and a slight dissatisfaction lingers because I wanted Lin to provide even more—more academic analysis, more information on their art project, more on their biological family. Instead, the author draws out the pair’s mutual, interwoven, interdependent partnership, “the forest and its understory.” What emerges, then, is Lin’s separate story, which permeates Lam’s and cannot be told apart.
I rate The Autobiography of H. Lan Thao Lam 3.5 stars.
My thanks to Dorothy and NetGalley for an ARC.