This book is problematic on so many levels that I don’t even know where to begin, so I’ll just start with the most problematic: the harmful stereotyping of the local population in Asia. They are reduced to pretty much every possible stereotype that you can think of and, what’s worse, the author frames the qualities she attributes to the local population as being intrinsic to them instead of as being the stereotypes they actually are. For example, when one of the white expats is walking in Thailand, he is described to be “looming over the locals” and, while at an event in Seoul, one of the main characters, Margaret, is described as being “six inches taller than any other woman in the room.” What I find most interesting is that it is not the expats themselves who make these generalizations about the local population; rather, it is the author who writes as if the entire local population is, in fact, shorter than their white counterparts. The fact that she renders such tired, racist assumptions about Asian people as indisputable facts is highly problematic and deeply disturbing.
One of the most problematic characterizations locates itself in a scene where one of the main characters, Mercy, interacts with a young man from Hong Kong:
“Unclothed, he is a tabula rasa, without his annoying FOB tics or telltale sartorial mistakes. He has a lean body, with muscles that ripple just under the skin. The handsomest of Chinese boys are—she hates to say it, but it’s true—almost feminine, with big, moist eyes and dark, thick hair…He needed this, to be without any identifiers.”
Although the entire characterization functions on heavily racialized and gendered terms, one sentence in particular stood out to me: “The handsomest of Chinese boys are—she hates to say it, but it’s true—almost feminine.” The sentence isn’t “She thinks that the handsomest of Chinese boys are…” or “She hates to say it, but she thinks that the handsomest of Chinese boys are....” No, the sentence is “The handsomest of Chinese boys are—she hates to say it, but it’s true—almost feminine.”
It’s one thing for a character to think these thoughts, as despicable as they are, but it’s another to take the time to anticipate your readers’ discomfort (“she hates to say it”), make whatever derogatory remark you are going to make anyway, and then refrain from owning up to it by shamelessly prefacing your comments as “truth.” It’s harmful insofar as it encourages readers to accept these racist characterizations as uncomfortable “truths.”
What’s more, we do not even need to see Asian men as human beings because, as the author reminds us, they are at their best—and, even then, only in the most troubling and superficial of ways—when they are reduced to anonymity. In other words, to be without identifiers and to be, as she calls it, a “tabula rasa,” is what Asian men need. In this sense, she reframes the racism that Asian men confront into an experience that is necessary and even good for them.
These characterizations find a similar example in another scene, where the author makes problematic observations about Margaret’s housekeeper’s Filipino background as a crutch to help us better understand Margaret’s feelings of isolation while living in Hong Kong. The food the housekeeper prepares is described as “unrecognizable in an odd way.” In fact, it is so odd that it is described as being of an “alternate universe.” The author goes on to say:
“Essie is wonderful, but she is from the Philippines and not native to spinach salads and grilled salmon, so they always come out a little tweaked, with too much honey in the teriyaki or not enough dressing on the salad, so it’s dry and tasteless.”
The thing about these racist characterizations is that they never seem to come from any of the expats themselves. In other words, the author never frames these characterizations as thoughts that Margaret herself has but rather as universal truths that are supposed to help us better understand and even sympathize with Margaret. It is not so much that Margaret herself is racist; rather, the narrative seems to argue that it is an accepted truth that Filipinos are inherently unrefined and that anybody, expat or not, would find their food “dry and tasteless.”
And, as if these problematic characterizations aren’t bad enough, all of the main characters are judgmental, self-serving, and overall insufferable and I find it difficult to sympathize with them. Mercy, in particular, is the worst. She seems to be the one marginally self-aware character who has an understanding of the extent to which her reckless actions can profoundly affect other people’s lives. In fact, she even constructs her entire identity around her so-called “bad luck” instead of just doing what every decent human being does when they make mistakes: admitting that they’ve messed up and promising to learn from their mistakes with the intention to do better next time. Instead of doing any of these things, however, she simply shrugs off responsibility and repeats the same problematic behavior that got her into trouble in the first place. The fact that she knew what she was doing makes me hate her even more.
What’s redeeming is that the characters do come around to their better qualities (selflessness, compassion, etc.) towards the end of the book. However, I wish the author had emphasized throughout the book that the characters either had these qualities to begin with, despite their flaws, or that they were at least working towards becoming the kind of people who did. Had that been the case I would have felt a lot more empathy for and connection with them and their journeys.