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Braised Pork
One morning in autumn, Jia Jia walks into the bathroom of her Beijing apartment to find her husband - with whom she had been breakfasting barely an hour before - dead in the bathtub. Next to him a piece of paper unfolds like the wings of a butterfly, and on it is an image that Jia Jia can't forget.
Profoundly troubled by what she has seen, even while she is abruptly released from a marriage that had constrained her, Jia Jia embarks on a journey to discover the truth of the sketch. Starting at her neighbourhood bar, with its brandy and vinyl, and fuelled by anger, bewilderment, curiosity and love, Jia Jia travels deep into her past in order to arrive at her future.
Braised Pork is a cinematic, often dreamlike evocation of nocturnal Beijing and the high plains of Tibet, and an exploration of myth-making, loss, and a world beyond words, which ultimately sees a young woman find a new and deeper sense of herself.
Profoundly troubled by what she has seen, even while she is abruptly released from a marriage that had constrained her, Jia Jia embarks on a journey to discover the truth of the sketch. Starting at her neighbourhood bar, with its brandy and vinyl, and fuelled by anger, bewilderment, curiosity and love, Jia Jia travels deep into her past in order to arrive at her future.
Braised Pork is a cinematic, often dreamlike evocation of nocturnal Beijing and the high plains of Tibet, and an exploration of myth-making, loss, and a world beyond words, which ultimately sees a young woman find a new and deeper sense of herself.
240 pages, Paperback
First published January 16, 2020
161 people are currently reading
11431 people want to read
About the author
An Yu
10 books256 followersAn Yu (安於) was born and raised in Beijing, and spent parts of her life studying and working in London, New York, and Paris. She received her MFA from New York University and writes her fiction in English. She is the author of the novels Braised Pork (2020), Ghost Music (2022), and Sunbirth (2025). Her writing has also appeared in The Sunday Times Style, Freeman’s, Literary Hub, The Wall Street Journal, among other publications.
She currently lives in Hong Kong and teaches creative writing at City University Hong Kong.
She currently lives in Hong Kong and teaches creative writing at City University Hong Kong.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 897 reviews
January 14, 2020
An Yu grew up in Beijing and received her M.F.A. from New York University. Although she is now based in China, she writes in English. Braised Pork is her debut novel written during her time spent in New York. From my research on the internet Ms Yu received an advance of six figures for two books so there is lot of expectancy for this novel and I can understand why.
First of all, the title is brilliant, it draws the attention and makes you want to find out what made the author to choose a dish as a name for a novel. Apparently I am not the only who found the title arresting, her agent said that “The author wrote me an email - I get a lot of submissions and have a lot of authors - but I was surprised by the title. I loved the title because it was so exciting and that’s the main reason I looked at it.” I found about what gave this book its name but the reason behind it is not entirely clear.
The novel is placed in contemporary Beijing, a city burdened by a constant haze due to pollution, a perfect setting for this surreal novel. One morning, the main character, Jia Jia, finds her husband dead in the bathtub, a freak accident or a suicide we never find out. Near the bath tub she finds a drawing of a fish man which seems to be the only clue left by her husband.
Even though Jia Jia’s marriage was one of convenience, she finds it difficult to come to terms with her lost. Her husband was a successful business man but after death she lefts Jia Jia with little money and an unsellable apartment. Confused, aimless, short on money and out of touch with her chosen career as a painter since her husband did not approve of her passion, Jia Jia needs to learn how to live, maybe for the first time
‘It’s like I’ve been walking up the walls of a tower my whole life,’ she explained, putting the glass down. ‘My body parallel to the ground, and then, the world turns and I’m standing straight up, and the tower is lying flat on the ground. Everything is now distorted but my head is up again, I’m walking forward. But the truth is, I don’t even know which way is up. “
She also needs to find out how to love. Married because she wanted a reliable man that would not make her suffer, she does not know what physical want is, she never felt the touch of “simple love” as one of the characters calls it. While drinking her sorrows in a bar, she meets Leo, the barmaid, a man of her age with who she develops a blossoming romance.
"The touch of his hands on her skin seeped into her pores like water. It was as if there was a place inside her that no one had reached before, and it had been shaken awake by this man’s warm embrace. She had never felt such yearning for another person’s body–it was beyond the flesh and the consciousness, it was not merely lust, neither was it love. Perhaps the best way to describe it, she thought, was like being a lone traveler in a desert, exhausted and desolate, when the most beautiful and fruitful peach tree blossomed in front of her."
After finding the drawing with the fish-man, Jia Jia becomes increasingly obsessed to understand its meaning. She is repeatedly visited by a dark, all consuming, “world of water” and a creature similar with the one in the drawing which always seems to escape her. Her quest for grasping the meaning of her “visions” takes her to small village Tibet and then back to her childhood and family.
I did try to understand what the world of water meant and after reading the novel it is still unclear to me. It might me a symbol of pain or depression, an unhappy past that is dragging her into dark depths. I am not sure we are meant to really figure it out.
As I wrote before, the atmosphere of the novel is dreamy and surreal and does remind me of Murakami from time to time. Disconnected almost lifeless characters, the bar conversations, the man whose wife disappeared, they all have a vibe of the Japanese writer in them. I have no problem it has similarities with his work as I found the book unique and interesting enough.
On the downside, I did not quite understood the aim of the novel , some of Jia Jia’s decisions left me perplexed, she kept changing her mind. Also I felt like the characters were not fleshed well enough but I don’t think I can expect much from such a short work. I also felt a bit disconnected with the characters, for a book that is about love and life it did not make me feel much.
Thank you Netgalley and Vintage for the advance copy, which was provided in exchange for an honest review
First of all, the title is brilliant, it draws the attention and makes you want to find out what made the author to choose a dish as a name for a novel. Apparently I am not the only who found the title arresting, her agent said that “The author wrote me an email - I get a lot of submissions and have a lot of authors - but I was surprised by the title. I loved the title because it was so exciting and that’s the main reason I looked at it.” I found about what gave this book its name but the reason behind it is not entirely clear.
The novel is placed in contemporary Beijing, a city burdened by a constant haze due to pollution, a perfect setting for this surreal novel. One morning, the main character, Jia Jia, finds her husband dead in the bathtub, a freak accident or a suicide we never find out. Near the bath tub she finds a drawing of a fish man which seems to be the only clue left by her husband.
Even though Jia Jia’s marriage was one of convenience, she finds it difficult to come to terms with her lost. Her husband was a successful business man but after death she lefts Jia Jia with little money and an unsellable apartment. Confused, aimless, short on money and out of touch with her chosen career as a painter since her husband did not approve of her passion, Jia Jia needs to learn how to live, maybe for the first time
‘It’s like I’ve been walking up the walls of a tower my whole life,’ she explained, putting the glass down. ‘My body parallel to the ground, and then, the world turns and I’m standing straight up, and the tower is lying flat on the ground. Everything is now distorted but my head is up again, I’m walking forward. But the truth is, I don’t even know which way is up. “
She also needs to find out how to love. Married because she wanted a reliable man that would not make her suffer, she does not know what physical want is, she never felt the touch of “simple love” as one of the characters calls it. While drinking her sorrows in a bar, she meets Leo, the barmaid, a man of her age with who she develops a blossoming romance.
"The touch of his hands on her skin seeped into her pores like water. It was as if there was a place inside her that no one had reached before, and it had been shaken awake by this man’s warm embrace. She had never felt such yearning for another person’s body–it was beyond the flesh and the consciousness, it was not merely lust, neither was it love. Perhaps the best way to describe it, she thought, was like being a lone traveler in a desert, exhausted and desolate, when the most beautiful and fruitful peach tree blossomed in front of her."
After finding the drawing with the fish-man, Jia Jia becomes increasingly obsessed to understand its meaning. She is repeatedly visited by a dark, all consuming, “world of water” and a creature similar with the one in the drawing which always seems to escape her. Her quest for grasping the meaning of her “visions” takes her to small village Tibet and then back to her childhood and family.
I did try to understand what the world of water meant and after reading the novel it is still unclear to me. It might me a symbol of pain or depression, an unhappy past that is dragging her into dark depths. I am not sure we are meant to really figure it out.
As I wrote before, the atmosphere of the novel is dreamy and surreal and does remind me of Murakami from time to time. Disconnected almost lifeless characters, the bar conversations, the man whose wife disappeared, they all have a vibe of the Japanese writer in them. I have no problem it has similarities with his work as I found the book unique and interesting enough.
On the downside, I did not quite understood the aim of the novel , some of Jia Jia’s decisions left me perplexed, she kept changing her mind. Also I felt like the characters were not fleshed well enough but I don’t think I can expect much from such a short work. I also felt a bit disconnected with the characters, for a book that is about love and life it did not make me feel much.
Thank you Netgalley and Vintage for the advance copy, which was provided in exchange for an honest review
April 14, 2020
Listen, I really like books that are riddles, that offer me motifs and clues which I have to piece together in order to grasp what’s going on or what it all means. My main issue with this novel is that An Yu provides her readers with tons of dead ends, with scenes and objects which seem meaningful at first and then lead nowhere, and that the picture that does come together in the end is vague and ornamental – to me, that makes for a frustrating read. But if you are the kind of reader who enjoys being perplexed, who is up for being immersed in a magical world of melancholy and subconscious emotional movements, than this clearly is the book for you.
Our protagonist is Jia Jia, a young painter living in Beijing whose husband mysteriously drowns in a bath tub, leaving behind a sketch of a fish with the head of a man. Jia Jia and her husband had a marriage of convenience, and the relationships between the characters in the novel will turn out to be the main topic An Yu negotiates throughout an otherwise meandering, completely implausible plot (hello, magical realism and narrative over-construction). Jia Jia begins a relationship with Leo who owns the bar next to her apartment, she witnesses the marriage of one of her clients disintegrate, she meets up with her father and his new wife, she travels to Tibet where she meets a man in search for his wife…you get the idea: An Yu meditates about the oscillation between closeness and detachment, the mystery of human connection. In between, a lot of rather enigmatic stuff happens.
To unlock this text (at least partly), you should pay close attention to the theme of water, and, of course, the role of the fish-man from the sketch mentioned above. Jia Jia has trouble painting waves – now think of all the metaphorical qualities of water, because An Yu will pour them right over you and contextualize this measure with the experiences of people in relationships, especially women who are restrained by societal expectations and gender norms. Jia Jia’s hunt for the meaning of the sketch leads her to Tibet, where An Yu opens up an additional metaphorical space that spans from Jia Jia’s painting of a Buddha in Beijing to Tibetan mysticism, and – say what? – tulips. And no worries: The title-giving “Braised Pork” features as well, and it provides an epiphany of authenticity (don’t ask).
This is certainly a daring book because it does not cater to the expectations of the reader, but I have to admit that I found the text often quite exasperating. The meanings that are provided remain vague and thus certainly can’t be called particularly profound. On the other hand, the floating (!) nature of the text and its messages is part of the whole point. So this debut (which was sold in a 7-way-auction) is for readers with a high tolerance for associative writing and perplexing plotlines, which means I’m not the ideal reader for this novel.
Our protagonist is Jia Jia, a young painter living in Beijing whose husband mysteriously drowns in a bath tub, leaving behind a sketch of a fish with the head of a man. Jia Jia and her husband had a marriage of convenience, and the relationships between the characters in the novel will turn out to be the main topic An Yu negotiates throughout an otherwise meandering, completely implausible plot (hello, magical realism and narrative over-construction). Jia Jia begins a relationship with Leo who owns the bar next to her apartment, she witnesses the marriage of one of her clients disintegrate, she meets up with her father and his new wife, she travels to Tibet where she meets a man in search for his wife…you get the idea: An Yu meditates about the oscillation between closeness and detachment, the mystery of human connection. In between, a lot of rather enigmatic stuff happens.
To unlock this text (at least partly), you should pay close attention to the theme of water, and, of course, the role of the fish-man from the sketch mentioned above. Jia Jia has trouble painting waves – now think of all the metaphorical qualities of water, because An Yu will pour them right over you and contextualize this measure with the experiences of people in relationships, especially women who are restrained by societal expectations and gender norms. Jia Jia’s hunt for the meaning of the sketch leads her to Tibet, where An Yu opens up an additional metaphorical space that spans from Jia Jia’s painting of a Buddha in Beijing to Tibetan mysticism, and – say what? – tulips. And no worries: The title-giving “Braised Pork” features as well, and it provides an epiphany of authenticity (don’t ask).
This is certainly a daring book because it does not cater to the expectations of the reader, but I have to admit that I found the text often quite exasperating. The meanings that are provided remain vague and thus certainly can’t be called particularly profound. On the other hand, the floating (!) nature of the text and its messages is part of the whole point. So this debut (which was sold in a 7-way-auction) is for readers with a high tolerance for associative writing and perplexing plotlines, which means I’m not the ideal reader for this novel.
January 13, 2020
Jia Jia's life is uneventful until the day she comes home to find her husband, Chen Hang, drowned in the bath. He leaves her with an apartment she can't sell and little else, except a strange drawing depicting what she calls 'the fish-man' – a figure with a fish's body and a man's head. Jia Jia, who is an artist, becomes somewhat obsessed with recreating the drawing, but finds the man's face so unremarkable she is unable to depict it. In attempting to make sense of Chen Hang's death, she also follows in his footsteps by travelling to Tibet and tracing the path of a holiday he took alone.
Braised Pork is a quiet and contemplative tale of family and finding oneself. It's touching to see Jia Jia reach a better understanding of who she is after the tedium of her loveless marriage. But there's also a little bit of magical realism mixed in: Jia Jia has dreams and/or hallucinations about the 'world of water', a dream-realm which proves crucial to her identity as well as being a key part of her background. I don't know if the details of this novel will linger in my memory, but it's beautifully written, a dreamy and soothing story.
I received an advance review copy of Braised Pork from the publisher through NetGalley.
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Braised Pork is a quiet and contemplative tale of family and finding oneself. It's touching to see Jia Jia reach a better understanding of who she is after the tedium of her loveless marriage. But there's also a little bit of magical realism mixed in: Jia Jia has dreams and/or hallucinations about the 'world of water', a dream-realm which proves crucial to her identity as well as being a key part of her background. I don't know if the details of this novel will linger in my memory, but it's beautifully written, a dreamy and soothing story.
I received an advance review copy of Braised Pork from the publisher through NetGalley.
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April 30, 2020
Wow!!!!!! One of the best DEBUT novels I’ve read this year!!!!
I saw the title of this book floating around last year— I’m Jewish. The word PORK comes with family baggage...for many of us. As a little girl I remember asking my mother why we didn’t eat pork ( or shellfish), in our home. After her somewhat unmemorable explanation, she told me about the time snuck out with friends and ate a bacon cheeseburger — she continued to tell me about how violently sick she got, vomiting, and ghastly sick.
Vomiting being one of my least favorite things in the entire world, knew it was a BAD FOOD....
To this day I’ve never eaten a hamburger with cheese or bacon on it.
So last year I never even gave this book a chance. I didn’t read reviews— I just walked on by whenever I saw the book cover.
I’m not sure why or what changed… but I downloaded the e-book from the library and read this book in one sitting.
I just want to keep saying ....OH MY GOD!!!!!!
I had NO IDEA .....
THIS BOOK WAS SOOOOOO ADDICTING.
Even when I was in bed this morning still not done with the book—-and Paul wanted to show me a Jimmy Kimmel YouTube ( he knows I love Jimmy’s ‘at home’ briefings) — they are part of my daily coronavirus- new pleasures.
Paul couldn’t believe that I turned him away and I said wait wait wait I must keep reading this book.
The most important thing I could say in this review - if you were one of my friends….whom we chat about books often I want to say JUST READ IT!!!! ( we can chat about it after)
I have no idea why more people didn’t encourage me to read this book.
I have no idea why there are low reviews.
Author, An Yu has a unique talent. I will jump to read her next novel.
Here’s a few tidbits ......
THE FIRST PARAGRAPH:
“The orange scarf slid from
Jia Jia’s shoulder and dropped into the bath. It sank
and turn darker in colour, hovering by Chen Hang’s head, like a goldfish. A few minutes earlier, Jia Jia had walked into the bathroom, scarf draped on each shoulder, to ask her husband’s preference. Instead she had found him crouching, face down in the half-filled tub, his rump sticking out from the water”.
Leo, a bartender, was born and raised in Beijing. He remembered Chen Hang clearly: a clean-shaven man, dark skinned even in winter, with only occasional hints of southern tones in his Mandarin.
Jia Jia wanted to be flirtatious and playful with Leo the bartender. She asked him if he liked Art, and he said he preferred music.
“Have you ever written songs for your girlfriend? She asked”.
“Once, for my most recent ex. But she didn’t like it”.
“Tell me about her”.
“Well...He search for a succinct way to answer a broad question”.
“She was like a bad hangover”.
“So she gave you a headache”.
“Many. Bad ones”.
“There was something unfulfilled about her relationship with Leo. The closer they pulled themselves together, the tighter her skin held her heart captive, unable to touch his. Still, she wanted to try, to free yourself from Chen Hang, to try and live another kind of life”.
Jia Jia was hired to paint a wall for Ms. Wan. It was a huge project. She painted the ancient Buddha Shakyamuni sitting on a lotus flower holding a beggar’s bowl in his left hand and calling the earth as witness with his right.
Jia Jia’s husband grew up poor, but in a normal family, worked hard, did well in business married her, then died. His life seemed simple, but Jia Jia didn’t understand his simplicity.
Jia Jia’s father had divorced her mother when she was five years of age.
When Jia Jia had been admitted to the Central Academy of Fine Arts, her father merely acknowledged it. He never opposed to studying art, but neither had he supported it.
With Chen Hang gone, Jia Jia had to start making money.
She hadn’t worked in years - not at all during her marriage.
Jia Jia wondered if it was a pipe dream that she could support herself with her paintings.
Nothing about this story was predictable from beginning to end.
The realism and surrealism keep you turning pages - you HAVE to know what’s coming down the pipes.
Jia Jia is a vulnerable and memorable character.
Part domestic noire, part folklore myth.... and partly about a woman finding her way in modern China.
Loved it!!!!
I saw the title of this book floating around last year— I’m Jewish. The word PORK comes with family baggage...for many of us. As a little girl I remember asking my mother why we didn’t eat pork ( or shellfish), in our home. After her somewhat unmemorable explanation, she told me about the time snuck out with friends and ate a bacon cheeseburger — she continued to tell me about how violently sick she got, vomiting, and ghastly sick.
Vomiting being one of my least favorite things in the entire world, knew it was a BAD FOOD....
To this day I’ve never eaten a hamburger with cheese or bacon on it.
So last year I never even gave this book a chance. I didn’t read reviews— I just walked on by whenever I saw the book cover.
I’m not sure why or what changed… but I downloaded the e-book from the library and read this book in one sitting.
I just want to keep saying ....OH MY GOD!!!!!!
I had NO IDEA .....
THIS BOOK WAS SOOOOOO ADDICTING.
Even when I was in bed this morning still not done with the book—-and Paul wanted to show me a Jimmy Kimmel YouTube ( he knows I love Jimmy’s ‘at home’ briefings) — they are part of my daily coronavirus- new pleasures.
Paul couldn’t believe that I turned him away and I said wait wait wait I must keep reading this book.
The most important thing I could say in this review - if you were one of my friends….whom we chat about books often I want to say JUST READ IT!!!! ( we can chat about it after)
I have no idea why more people didn’t encourage me to read this book.
I have no idea why there are low reviews.
Author, An Yu has a unique talent. I will jump to read her next novel.
Here’s a few tidbits ......
THE FIRST PARAGRAPH:
“The orange scarf slid from
Jia Jia’s shoulder and dropped into the bath. It sank
and turn darker in colour, hovering by Chen Hang’s head, like a goldfish. A few minutes earlier, Jia Jia had walked into the bathroom, scarf draped on each shoulder, to ask her husband’s preference. Instead she had found him crouching, face down in the half-filled tub, his rump sticking out from the water”.
Leo, a bartender, was born and raised in Beijing. He remembered Chen Hang clearly: a clean-shaven man, dark skinned even in winter, with only occasional hints of southern tones in his Mandarin.
Jia Jia wanted to be flirtatious and playful with Leo the bartender. She asked him if he liked Art, and he said he preferred music.
“Have you ever written songs for your girlfriend? She asked”.
“Once, for my most recent ex. But she didn’t like it”.
“Tell me about her”.
“Well...He search for a succinct way to answer a broad question”.
“She was like a bad hangover”.
“So she gave you a headache”.
“Many. Bad ones”.
“There was something unfulfilled about her relationship with Leo. The closer they pulled themselves together, the tighter her skin held her heart captive, unable to touch his. Still, she wanted to try, to free yourself from Chen Hang, to try and live another kind of life”.
Jia Jia was hired to paint a wall for Ms. Wan. It was a huge project. She painted the ancient Buddha Shakyamuni sitting on a lotus flower holding a beggar’s bowl in his left hand and calling the earth as witness with his right.
Jia Jia’s husband grew up poor, but in a normal family, worked hard, did well in business married her, then died. His life seemed simple, but Jia Jia didn’t understand his simplicity.
Jia Jia’s father had divorced her mother when she was five years of age.
When Jia Jia had been admitted to the Central Academy of Fine Arts, her father merely acknowledged it. He never opposed to studying art, but neither had he supported it.
With Chen Hang gone, Jia Jia had to start making money.
She hadn’t worked in years - not at all during her marriage.
Jia Jia wondered if it was a pipe dream that she could support herself with her paintings.
Nothing about this story was predictable from beginning to end.
The realism and surrealism keep you turning pages - you HAVE to know what’s coming down the pipes.
Jia Jia is a vulnerable and memorable character.
Part domestic noire, part folklore myth.... and partly about a woman finding her way in modern China.
Loved it!!!!
March 24, 2020
Well that was perplexing in the extreme.
I thought we were doing a novel of moody Beijing thirty-something ennui. There is a loveless marriage, a hook up with a hot bartender (I added hot purely to keep things lively, in fact I believe he was nondescript). There is a fair amount of painting, particularly of a mysterious "fish-man".
It is all reasonably readable until it took a stumble into a more magical realist world, there was quite a lot of splashing around in water and something about tulips that I failed to grasp.
Other readers with a higher tolerance for gauzy, dream-like, odd little novels might find more to love here but it failed to ignite much passion from me. I walk away with only a yearning for some braised pork belly and maybe some buttermilk tea ?
I thought we were doing a novel of moody Beijing thirty-something ennui. There is a loveless marriage, a hook up with a hot bartender (I added hot purely to keep things lively, in fact I believe he was nondescript). There is a fair amount of painting, particularly of a mysterious "fish-man".
It is all reasonably readable until it took a stumble into a more magical realist world, there was quite a lot of splashing around in water and something about tulips that I failed to grasp.
Other readers with a higher tolerance for gauzy, dream-like, odd little novels might find more to love here but it failed to ignite much passion from me. I walk away with only a yearning for some braised pork belly and maybe some buttermilk tea ?
January 9, 2020
What a fantastic book! Be warned, this is not for the reader who loves a steady, clear plot. Braised Pork has a surreal feel to it, dream-like, melancholic, contemplative. Wu Jia Jia is shocked to find that her husband has died (drowned? Suicide?) in the bath tub. He leaves behind a strange drawing—of a ‘fish-man’. She, being an artist, tries to recreate it but is unable to do so. And so she travels to find the mystery of the fish-man and his connection (maybe) to her husband’s death.
The book set in Beijing night life and Tibetan high plains with ample dreams that tiptoe on magical realism, flows like water. Water finds its mention at several places in the book, sometimes as a direct word, sometimes alluded to. The novel alternates between philosophical, dreamy-storytelling and makes the reader reflect on what has happened to the characters. Was Jia Jia’s marriage one of convenience? Will her new found romance with the barman Leo—who describes her as ‘like water’— be a steady relationship or a rebound? Is she happy? We meet a Jia Jia who is visibly liberated through widowhood, free of chains of marriage to a non-encouraging (Chen Hang did not appreciate her art, he would make her feel self-conscious and cover up her birthmark while they have sex) husband and his demanding family.
The title comes from a meal Jia Jia shares with her estranged father. I love how the novel pulls the reader into the present and immediately introduces a character that they feel they know for ages. I hadn’t thought about the father at all, until this point. The act of sharing a meal, reliving memories of her favourite dish of braised pork puts into perspective so many missing pieces in the puzzle. Braised Pork is about finding yourself, being at peace with your past, navigating grief and moving forward.
What I was unsure about?—Maybe there are too many references to ‘water’ and a few might be lost to the reader. Nevertheless, it was an enjoyable read.
Much thanks to Grove Press for a copy of the book. All opinions are my own.
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The book set in Beijing night life and Tibetan high plains with ample dreams that tiptoe on magical realism, flows like water. Water finds its mention at several places in the book, sometimes as a direct word, sometimes alluded to. The novel alternates between philosophical, dreamy-storytelling and makes the reader reflect on what has happened to the characters. Was Jia Jia’s marriage one of convenience? Will her new found romance with the barman Leo—who describes her as ‘like water’— be a steady relationship or a rebound? Is she happy? We meet a Jia Jia who is visibly liberated through widowhood, free of chains of marriage to a non-encouraging (Chen Hang did not appreciate her art, he would make her feel self-conscious and cover up her birthmark while they have sex) husband and his demanding family.
The title comes from a meal Jia Jia shares with her estranged father. I love how the novel pulls the reader into the present and immediately introduces a character that they feel they know for ages. I hadn’t thought about the father at all, until this point. The act of sharing a meal, reliving memories of her favourite dish of braised pork puts into perspective so many missing pieces in the puzzle. Braised Pork is about finding yourself, being at peace with your past, navigating grief and moving forward.
What I was unsure about?—Maybe there are too many references to ‘water’ and a few might be lost to the reader. Nevertheless, it was an enjoyable read.
Much thanks to Grove Press for a copy of the book. All opinions are my own.
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June 5, 2022
Sparsely written and permeated by a sense of surreality Braised Pork had the potential of being a wonderfully weird tale. Alas, Braised Pork falls short of its premise. I found the story to be painfully slow-going, the main character failed to drew me in, and, ultimately, the novel left me feeling rather unimpressed (in 'was that all?' kind of way).
Set in Beijing, Braised Pork tells the story of Jia Jia, a married woman in her 30s who one day walks into her apartment's bathroom to find her husband's dead body. Near him lies a sketch of a peculiar figure of a fish-man. An Yu explores not only how widowhood is perceived in contemporary Beijing but of how her husband's strange death affects Jia Jia. She begins seeing the owner of a bar she begins frequenting, but her mind and dreams are occupied by images of the fish-man. Jia Jia embarks on a physical and spiritual journey by traveling to Tibet, the place her husband visited prior to his sudden death. Here Jia Jia encounters some eccentric characters who may help her find the truth behind the fish-man.
The pacing of the novel made me put it aside quite a few times. I first started reading this back in August of 2020 but only managed to finish it now, in March 2021. There was nothing that stood out to me, which is surprising, given that it had many weird elements. But these were presented in such a mundane fashion (mostly in dreams and flashes) that I was not all that intrigued by the fish-man or the death of Jia Jia's husband. Jia Jia was not a character I particularly liked or cared for. I found her curt and rude, especially when speaking to workers. Her relationship with the barman takes the backseat around the halfway mark and she seems all of a sudden taken by a random guy she meets in Tibet. The narrative unfolds lazily, offering random exchanges now and again, but these were often brief and ultimately uninteresting. The ending was particularly unsatisfying, as all of a sudden, we are provided with a half-baked story that is meant to explain the weirdness Jia Jia has experienced so far.
All in all, as I found this to be forgettable and bland, I can safely say that I did not get it. If you are curious about this novel I recommend you check out more positive reviews before making up your mind.
June 12, 2021
I am attracted to books set in places I have never been and those set in places not totally familiar to me. I enjoy characters who are unusual. Piecing aspects of a novel together or figuring out the ending are things I like; I don't want everything spelled out. Weird usually works. However, reading this novel was like a view through a dense fog. At times the fog thinned, rays of light shined through, only to leave me engulfed once again in even denser fog.
The search for the fish-man and its mysterious appearance in the dark, cold water was the essence of this short debut novel. Jia Jia, a young Beijinger recently widowed, seeks the reason for her husband's bathtub drowning and its relationship to the sketch found near his body. Traveling to Tibet where she feels answers may be found, she experiences dreams of being in extremely cold water swimming with the fish-man, a creature that is part fish and part man. Her discoveries in Tibet as well as learning relevant information about her parents from her formerly estranged father, help her understand the mystery and herself. She is set free from past boundaries. She can pursue happiness and truly develop her talent as an artist.
There are many interesting details about Beijing. I enjoyed the contrast of the city with its smog and human isolation and the natural beauty, clean air, and warm, friendly people of Tibet. The disparity between the older Chinese people and the modern generation with its acceptance and rejection of ancient superstitions was appealing.
Although I am glad I read this book (and glad it was short), it seemed disjointed and confusing. The characters seemed as cold as the water of the fish-man and like the fish-man, not fully human. Because the writing is good and there were things I gleaned, I gave it 3 stars, but it just inched over from a 2 star rating.
"He called in the world of water, where air is replaced by water, and light is replaces by darkness. It's a world where there are no barriers."
The search for the fish-man and its mysterious appearance in the dark, cold water was the essence of this short debut novel. Jia Jia, a young Beijinger recently widowed, seeks the reason for her husband's bathtub drowning and its relationship to the sketch found near his body. Traveling to Tibet where she feels answers may be found, she experiences dreams of being in extremely cold water swimming with the fish-man, a creature that is part fish and part man. Her discoveries in Tibet as well as learning relevant information about her parents from her formerly estranged father, help her understand the mystery and herself. She is set free from past boundaries. She can pursue happiness and truly develop her talent as an artist.
There are many interesting details about Beijing. I enjoyed the contrast of the city with its smog and human isolation and the natural beauty, clean air, and warm, friendly people of Tibet. The disparity between the older Chinese people and the modern generation with its acceptance and rejection of ancient superstitions was appealing.
Although I am glad I read this book (and glad it was short), it seemed disjointed and confusing. The characters seemed as cold as the water of the fish-man and like the fish-man, not fully human. Because the writing is good and there were things I gleaned, I gave it 3 stars, but it just inched over from a 2 star rating.
"He called in the world of water, where air is replaced by water, and light is replaces by darkness. It's a world where there are no barriers."
January 6, 2020
One of my most anticipated releases of the year, I am extremely sad to say that I didn’t like it. I usually preface my reviews with a particular quote I loved or that I felt encapsulated the overall feeling of the book - I realised as I closed Braised Pork that I hadn’t found one.
Reading this book, I found myself perpetually slouching, turning page after page, feeling numb. There were occasional moments that would have me readjust and straighten up in my seat, thinking yes, this is it, this is what I've been waiting for - but, after a page or so, I would resume my previous position.
I struggled to get anything from this book besides bemusement as to how a book, which has been marketed as so strange and different could be so so mundane and lifeless. The best word I could use to describe it is that it was hollow - there was nothing of substance here, no direction, no certainty even. It reads like a vaguely good idea but not a novel. It doesn't feel planned or structured, it just feels like a series of jumbled events that's supposed to lead you to a satisfying, moving end, in which it doesn't succeed. I felt nothing when I turned the final page other than bewilderment and disappointment.
Why not one star? It’s not incompetent...it’s not poorly written, in fact there are a handful of nice sentences and imagery, and it’s not offensive to me. I can tell there is a spark here, and I hope An Yu hones her craft and writes more because I can see something in her writing that has the potential to be better. This badly needed structure, direction, solidity, and some distinction in its voice.
Reading this book, I found myself perpetually slouching, turning page after page, feeling numb. There were occasional moments that would have me readjust and straighten up in my seat, thinking yes, this is it, this is what I've been waiting for - but, after a page or so, I would resume my previous position.
I struggled to get anything from this book besides bemusement as to how a book, which has been marketed as so strange and different could be so so mundane and lifeless. The best word I could use to describe it is that it was hollow - there was nothing of substance here, no direction, no certainty even. It reads like a vaguely good idea but not a novel. It doesn't feel planned or structured, it just feels like a series of jumbled events that's supposed to lead you to a satisfying, moving end, in which it doesn't succeed. I felt nothing when I turned the final page other than bewilderment and disappointment.
Why not one star? It’s not incompetent...it’s not poorly written, in fact there are a handful of nice sentences and imagery, and it’s not offensive to me. I can tell there is a spark here, and I hope An Yu hones her craft and writes more because I can see something in her writing that has the potential to be better. This badly needed structure, direction, solidity, and some distinction in its voice.
December 13, 2020
These memories have been like a hole in the ground, right beneath the steps to my door. On rainy days there would be a puddle, and I’d always step around it. Sometimes, there’d be relentless storms, and I’d stay inside and watch the hole fill up and overflow. Long periods of time would also come when the hole would be dry and almost unnoticeable. And then, without warning, it would rain again. But throughout the years, I have come to accept that the world spins, one season pours into another, and the past travels full circle back to you.
This enigmatic book – written in English by an author born and raised in Beijing, is set in that City’s Central Business District and in a remote village in Tibet.
The dominant third-party narrator is Jia Jia and the book opens with her finding her older husband face down in the bath, with beside him a sketch he had made inspired by a dream he had when on a retreat to Tibet: a picture of a fish-man (body of a fish, face of a man). In Beijing she: meets and forms a relationship with a bartender Leo; takes a job painting a Buddha for a rich older couple themselves struggling in their relationship; interacts with her Aunt and Grandmother (and her Aunt’s husband arrested for corruption); falls out with her widowed father (her mother having died of cancer) when she finds he is remarrying; struggles to let her apartment (the only thing left to her by her husband) and to adapt to her new fiscal situation.
All the time though she is haunted by a mysterious world of water into which she finds herself falling at times and she eventually decides to go to Tibet to see what she can discover of this world and of the fish-man, eventually, together with a writer hunting for his disappearing wife, finding a village with a mystical Grandpa who carves fish-men while trying to grow tulips, before achieving some form of resolution when she returns to Beijing and sees her father.
Murakami comparisons (with a change of country and with a change in the sex of writer and character) are inevitable – with the City setting, the juxtaposition with rural themes, with the simple writing but dreamy/surreal plot and particularly with a jazz-loving bartender and jazz-guitarist father.
However Murakami’s books (much as I enjoy them) I think largely eschew any really deeper theme – here I think this is a book full of meaning and ideas.
It is an exploration of: of loss and of mourning (particularly mourning for relationships which, while they existed, were flawed or unsatisfactory); of solid barriers (both as a constraint and as protection); and of infinite watery voids (both as freedom and as of being unmoored; of liminality; of connecting to others and of reconnecting to your own memories and past; about how pain and hope live alongside each other; of dreams and memories and myth
Another key theme to the book is how characters try to capture these ideas through their chosen art-outlet (painting, drawing, carving, sculpture).
An Yu in literature has succeeded.
Most particularly I think in the way in which the reader’s experience largely matches Jia Jia’s: mired in the rather prosaic detail of daily Beijing life, we suddenly find (literally) the floor taken away from us and we swim in darkness looking for some form of clarity, but when we return to the normal we are left with a sense of unease and mystery.
Overall I found this a quietly moving and beautiful read.
March 29, 2022
I both enjoyed and didn't enjoy this. I thought the characterizations were excellent and I really got a feeling for Jia Jia's life and world view. But at the same time the prose-style was a bit too removed for my tastes and I am also unsure that all narrative threads were sufficiently interesting. I did, however, absolutely love how this all came together in the end and I thought the surreal elements were well-integrated.
I received an ARC of this book courtesy of the publisher and Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.
I received an ARC of this book courtesy of the publisher and Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.
October 17, 2025
3.5/5 stars
When I think back on Braised Pork years from now, I will most likely remember very little of the story, yet still be able to vividly recall its atmosphere and (cultural) setting.
The story begins when Jia Jia finds her husband dead in their small Beijing apartment bathroom, having mysteriously drowned in their bath. Near his body, the only clue Jia Jia finds is a sketch of a half-man, half-fish creature that may have had significance to her husband. What follows is an exploration of their pasts, their marriage of convenience and the mythology that surrounds them.
I had mixed, but overall positive feelings about Braised Pork . I loved the setting, atmosphere and the exploration of the character through the use of elements of magical realism. I also loved the authenticity and multi-layered portrayal of Jia Jia’s grief for her husband. Their relationship in life was complex, hence so is their relationship in death. As Jia Jia dives into the murky waters of her husband’s past following the trial of the fish-man, she learns things she never knew about him in life. Throughout her journey, she grieves for the man she knew, the side of him she never got to know, and the future they will never have.
Speaking of murky waters, Braised Pork contains a strong narrative motif of water, which plays a big role in connecting different storylines. As if to complement that, the writing often takes on a flowing quality as well, which suits the book, but can also be aggravating at times, as it’ll leave you unsure as to quite where the story is going.
Overall I’d recommend you read this if you’re interested in the cultural aspects or the exploration of grief in a little less conventional way. If you’re someone who needs a structured plot and clear answers at the end though, you may want to give this one a pass.
When I think back on Braised Pork years from now, I will most likely remember very little of the story, yet still be able to vividly recall its atmosphere and (cultural) setting.
The story begins when Jia Jia finds her husband dead in their small Beijing apartment bathroom, having mysteriously drowned in their bath. Near his body, the only clue Jia Jia finds is a sketch of a half-man, half-fish creature that may have had significance to her husband. What follows is an exploration of their pasts, their marriage of convenience and the mythology that surrounds them.
I had mixed, but overall positive feelings about Braised Pork . I loved the setting, atmosphere and the exploration of the character through the use of elements of magical realism. I also loved the authenticity and multi-layered portrayal of Jia Jia’s grief for her husband. Their relationship in life was complex, hence so is their relationship in death. As Jia Jia dives into the murky waters of her husband’s past following the trial of the fish-man, she learns things she never knew about him in life. Throughout her journey, she grieves for the man she knew, the side of him she never got to know, and the future they will never have.
Speaking of murky waters, Braised Pork contains a strong narrative motif of water, which plays a big role in connecting different storylines. As if to complement that, the writing often takes on a flowing quality as well, which suits the book, but can also be aggravating at times, as it’ll leave you unsure as to quite where the story is going.
Overall I’d recommend you read this if you’re interested in the cultural aspects or the exploration of grief in a little less conventional way. If you’re someone who needs a structured plot and clear answers at the end though, you may want to give this one a pass.
March 29, 2020
The writing style is so mesmerizing, I literally couldn’t put this book down. This was such a great character piece, and learning a little bit about what life is like in Beijing was amazing! I really recommend this book!
March 9, 2020
Set in modern-day Beijing, doting housewife Jia Jia finds her husband floating face down in their tub one morning, dead. Next to him - a bizarre drawing of a fish man (Abe Sapien?!). What does it all mean? She sets out to find answers.
… and finds none. Because An Yu’s debut novel Braised Pork is awful! I’ve wanted to read a contemporary Chinese novel for a while and that intriguing premise sounded right up my street. Well, alls I can say is that I can see why Chinese literature isn’t taking the world by storm (unlike its diseases) if this trash is anything to go by.
The story is a meandering zero. Jia Jia starts a relationship with a bartender called Leo which goes nowhere and means nothing. She goes to Tibet to find out about the Fish Man and meets a man looking for his wife - like she’s kinda looking for her husband through the drawing. She used to be an artist who’s now taken up painting again, her first commission being a painting of the Buddha for a couple whose marriage is over - also like her former loveless marriage.
Uh huh…? I can see Yu trying to seem deep and literary in drawing these parallels, but I don’t get any idea what she’s trying to actually say, if anything, because I suspect there’s nothing substantive being said anyway. We spend our whole time with Jia Jia but I don’t feel like I know her at all. She used to be an artist before her husband made her stop but now he’s gone she’s started again. Yay? I mean, was it her dream to paint Buddhas on people’s walls?
Did she really love her husband? He seemed to be only mean and distant to her so why would she care so much to find out what this enigmatic scribbling meant? And on that, couldn’t it just be some random drawing her husband drew? It’s such a cliched literary conceit that it leads to this quest. Not that that leads anywhere interesting either - just more smoke and mirrors.
Like Jia Jia, Yu’s portrayal of Beijing is bland and unimpressive - I got no sense of place or what it’s like to live there; it could be any major metropolitan city. Other things happen - she’s trying to sell her apartment, she reconnects with her estranged father, her aunt’s husband gets in trouble with the authorities - but none of it matters. It’s just padding to beef up a thin storyline.
I would’ve been more forgiving of the book if the story had been better handled - like if we got an idea of why her husband killed himself and the meaning of the Fish Man - but instead Yu abandons her attempts at telling a semi-coherent narrative in favour of murky impressionism that was deeply unsatisfying to read. A vague, confusing, disappointing and very boring novel, don’t believe any hype you might hear about An Yu’s Braised Pork - it is rancid.
… and finds none. Because An Yu’s debut novel Braised Pork is awful! I’ve wanted to read a contemporary Chinese novel for a while and that intriguing premise sounded right up my street. Well, alls I can say is that I can see why Chinese literature isn’t taking the world by storm (unlike its diseases) if this trash is anything to go by.
The story is a meandering zero. Jia Jia starts a relationship with a bartender called Leo which goes nowhere and means nothing. She goes to Tibet to find out about the Fish Man and meets a man looking for his wife - like she’s kinda looking for her husband through the drawing. She used to be an artist who’s now taken up painting again, her first commission being a painting of the Buddha for a couple whose marriage is over - also like her former loveless marriage.
Uh huh…? I can see Yu trying to seem deep and literary in drawing these parallels, but I don’t get any idea what she’s trying to actually say, if anything, because I suspect there’s nothing substantive being said anyway. We spend our whole time with Jia Jia but I don’t feel like I know her at all. She used to be an artist before her husband made her stop but now he’s gone she’s started again. Yay? I mean, was it her dream to paint Buddhas on people’s walls?
Did she really love her husband? He seemed to be only mean and distant to her so why would she care so much to find out what this enigmatic scribbling meant? And on that, couldn’t it just be some random drawing her husband drew? It’s such a cliched literary conceit that it leads to this quest. Not that that leads anywhere interesting either - just more smoke and mirrors.
Like Jia Jia, Yu’s portrayal of Beijing is bland and unimpressive - I got no sense of place or what it’s like to live there; it could be any major metropolitan city. Other things happen - she’s trying to sell her apartment, she reconnects with her estranged father, her aunt’s husband gets in trouble with the authorities - but none of it matters. It’s just padding to beef up a thin storyline.
I would’ve been more forgiving of the book if the story had been better handled - like if we got an idea of why her husband killed himself and the meaning of the Fish Man - but instead Yu abandons her attempts at telling a semi-coherent narrative in favour of murky impressionism that was deeply unsatisfying to read. A vague, confusing, disappointing and very boring novel, don’t believe any hype you might hear about An Yu’s Braised Pork - it is rancid.
May 25, 2020
2.5 stars, rounded down. Sub-replacement level Murakami. Clumsily plotted and awkwardly written, straining beneath heavy-handed Buddhist allegory.
July 11, 2021
An Yu’s debut novel Braised Pork starts with the grotesque death of businessman Chen Hang in his Beijing apartment. His young wife Jia Jia discovers him drowned in a half-filled bath, face down and “his rump sticking out from the water”. Is it suicide or a freak accident? Jia Jia can’t really say, especially since the couple have long been drifting apart and Chen Hang rarely opened up to her. Jia Jia only has two clues to try to get to the heart of the mystery. One is the strange sketch of what she calls “the fish-man”, a fish with a human head, which she finds in the bathroom close to her husband’s lifeless body. Another is a related, unsettling dream which Chen Hang had whilst on a solitary trip to Tibet and which he had uncharacteristically phoned to tell her about.
Jia Jia’s marriage was built on convenience, not love. Yet this does not make it any easier for her to come to terms with her loss and with the upheaval – both practical and emotional – which her husband’s death brings. This unforeseen tragedy also triggers memories of older pains, including her parents’ separation and her mother’s death. Jia Jia believes that the solution of the “fish-man” enigma might give her the replies she craves, and she finally decides to get to the bottom of the mystery, by recreating Chen Hang’s trip to Tibet. It will become a voyage of (self-) discovery.
An Yu has given us a strange little novel which I’m not sure I managed to come to grips with. There is a strong element of magical realism, characterised by mythical figures (such as the “Grandpa” character Jia Jia meets in Tibet) and obscure dream sequences featuring a mysterious “water world”. Indeed, imagery relating to water permeates the whole novel – a Kindle search tells me that the word “water” is explicitly mentioned 107 times in the book. That, of course, does not include other more oblique allusions and images, including the aquarium bought by Jia Jia’s aunt, the description of the lakes and rivers of Tibet and the smog-tainted snow of Beijing, and even the unexpected mention of Maurice Ravel’s Jeux d’Eau in the final paragraphs of the novel. Jia herself is compared to water: Leo, the barman with whom she attempts a relationship, tells her she is “like water…your beauty is soft and quiet”.
The meaning behind these watery metaphors remains frustratingly elusive. Do they symbolise tears of grief? Is the dark “watery world” a symbol of depression? Few answers are given. And perhaps the author’s intention is precisely that. The magical elements add an aura of mystery and lyricism to what is, at heart, a touching portrayal of a young widow struggling to overcome her loss and make peace with her past.
Braised Pork is an unusual dish, and I’m not sure all its ingredients fit together. But despite my head-scratching, I certainly enjoyed reading it. Apparently, Harvill Secker bought 26-year old An Yu’s debut after a seven-way auction, and have committed to publishing her second novel. This author is going places.
(Full review at https://endsoftheword.blogspot.com/20... )
Jia Jia’s marriage was built on convenience, not love. Yet this does not make it any easier for her to come to terms with her loss and with the upheaval – both practical and emotional – which her husband’s death brings. This unforeseen tragedy also triggers memories of older pains, including her parents’ separation and her mother’s death. Jia Jia believes that the solution of the “fish-man” enigma might give her the replies she craves, and she finally decides to get to the bottom of the mystery, by recreating Chen Hang’s trip to Tibet. It will become a voyage of (self-) discovery.
An Yu has given us a strange little novel which I’m not sure I managed to come to grips with. There is a strong element of magical realism, characterised by mythical figures (such as the “Grandpa” character Jia Jia meets in Tibet) and obscure dream sequences featuring a mysterious “water world”. Indeed, imagery relating to water permeates the whole novel – a Kindle search tells me that the word “water” is explicitly mentioned 107 times in the book. That, of course, does not include other more oblique allusions and images, including the aquarium bought by Jia Jia’s aunt, the description of the lakes and rivers of Tibet and the smog-tainted snow of Beijing, and even the unexpected mention of Maurice Ravel’s Jeux d’Eau in the final paragraphs of the novel. Jia herself is compared to water: Leo, the barman with whom she attempts a relationship, tells her she is “like water…your beauty is soft and quiet”.
The meaning behind these watery metaphors remains frustratingly elusive. Do they symbolise tears of grief? Is the dark “watery world” a symbol of depression? Few answers are given. And perhaps the author’s intention is precisely that. The magical elements add an aura of mystery and lyricism to what is, at heart, a touching portrayal of a young widow struggling to overcome her loss and make peace with her past.
Braised Pork is an unusual dish, and I’m not sure all its ingredients fit together. But despite my head-scratching, I certainly enjoyed reading it. Apparently, Harvill Secker bought 26-year old An Yu’s debut after a seven-way auction, and have committed to publishing her second novel. This author is going places.
(Full review at https://endsoftheword.blogspot.com/20... )
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May 24, 2020Braised Pork by An Yu seems to exist in a floaty interstitial world between English and Chinese. I knew that the novel was written in English, An Yu's second language, before I began reading, but something about the language itself, and how the story delivers itself word by word and sentence by sentence on the page, made me keep thinking as I read that the language sounded like a Chinese novel in translation. Unlike famous non-native-speaker-author Joseph Conrad, who seemed determined to write sentences of such complexity that no native speaker would have been able to imagine writing them, An Yu's English is flat and unadorned: subject, verb, object. I would find myself thinking as I read along that the style reminded me of Mo Yan's style in English translation. The language is disarmingly simple--literally disarming, in my case, in that it disarmed me, and kept me from falling into the fictional dream.. And as I read along I kept having these somewhat obtrusive thoughts about how the language seemed translated when it wasn't, I also began to think that some of the words I was reading had indeed been badly translated, no matter what I'd heard, and that due to bad translation some parts of the story had become unintentionally surreal. It read as if the translator had kept choosing concrete words and literal translations for what in the original was metaphorical. The English felt unusually arranged. Its beats distracted me, and directed me over and over again to think about the words on the page, rather than their meaning. I can't say if this is a reaction that any other reader will have to this story but it made my experience of the novel something akin to found art, where arrangements of words allowed me to create my own interpretations, in the interstitial space that exists between word and meaning. I enjoyed reading the novel, but I'm not sure my experience was the intended one.
August 14, 2021
enchanting, incredible, mesmerising first half
extremely disappointing second half full of really quite uncomfortably uncritical portrayals of tibet as primitive, timeless (i.e. out of time, never modern), and a backdrop for beijingers to figure out their hypercapitalist ennui. i kept hoping that the world of water would help to unravel this very reductive and racist framework that jia jia and co. have about tibet, but it didn't really happen... she really Found Herself In The Himalayas With The Ethnics huh.
extremely disappointing second half full of really quite uncomfortably uncritical portrayals of tibet as primitive, timeless (i.e. out of time, never modern), and a backdrop for beijingers to figure out their hypercapitalist ennui. i kept hoping that the world of water would help to unravel this very reductive and racist framework that jia jia and co. have about tibet, but it didn't really happen... she really Found Herself In The Himalayas With The Ethnics huh.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
April 15, 2020
Unique, mesmerizing, and reflective!
Braised Pork is a short but mystifyingly lush tale about a young, vulnerable widow, Jia Jia whose life is irrevocably changed, upheaved, and somewhat freed when her husband suddenly dies and leaves behind a sketch of a “fish-man” figure.
The prose is elegant and expressive. The imagery is gritty and vivid. And the plot is a spiritual journey into the true meaning and importance of life, love, and death.
Braised Pork as a whole is a beautifully crafted tale that is perplexing, immersive, melancholic, and pensive, and yet when I finished the final page I was, unfortunately, left feeling a little flat and unfulfilled.
Thank you to PGC Books for providing me with a copy in exchange for an honest review.
Braised Pork is a short but mystifyingly lush tale about a young, vulnerable widow, Jia Jia whose life is irrevocably changed, upheaved, and somewhat freed when her husband suddenly dies and leaves behind a sketch of a “fish-man” figure.
The prose is elegant and expressive. The imagery is gritty and vivid. And the plot is a spiritual journey into the true meaning and importance of life, love, and death.
Braised Pork as a whole is a beautifully crafted tale that is perplexing, immersive, melancholic, and pensive, and yet when I finished the final page I was, unfortunately, left feeling a little flat and unfulfilled.
Thank you to PGC Books for providing me with a copy in exchange for an honest review.
December 29, 2019
I read it in one sitting, and came off feeling that this was an easy read, interesting enough, and promptly filled in the three stars rating on Goodreads. But, and a BIG BUT at that, I am so very wrong, very very wrong. I decided to write a review the morning after the read, and going through all the details, and connections again in my head, i was silently wowed by the story that An Yu has created. It reads straight-forward but hell, this is a novel like a large body of water, the ocean, where the ripples continues long after you had taken, and completed your first stroke to survive in the water.
January 31, 2020
After the death of her husband, a woman leaves her home and embarks on an adventure.
January 16, 2022
Ich mag literarische Herausforderungen, wo viele Dinge zwischen den Zeilen verborgen sind und die eigene Kreativität und Denkkraft gefordert wird um aus einer bizarren Aneinanderreihung von Szenen das große Bild zu erkennen.
Daher war ich bezaubert vom Anfang der Geschichte, die mich sofort gefesselt hat. Aber leider kam es nicht zu einem Durchbruch der Geschichte. Außerdem hatte ich auch das Gefühl, dass die Protagonistin zu wenig Präsenz hatte. Auch wenn es so viele fantastische Elemente gab, gab es leider auch keinen roten Faden. Die Bilder, die die Wörter erzeugen, sind stellenweise grandios; ich mochte die Szenen mit dem silbernen Fisch und der Kälte des Wassers, aber leider gab es gar keine Anhaltspunkte um tatsächlich was aus diesen Bildern zu machen. Auch die Familienmitglieder oder das Gesellschaftsbild einer Frau/Witwe werden nur schwach angerissen, aber nicht weiter ausgeführt. Klar kann man auch nur anhand der grundlegenden Bedeutungen der Elemente arbeiten, aber das wäre zu allgemein. Somit hätte ich ein paar Hinweise mehr im Text sehr begrüßt um die Geschichte wirklich genießen und einordnen zu können.
** Dieses Buch wurde mir über NetGalley als E-Book zur Verfügung gestellt **
Daher war ich bezaubert vom Anfang der Geschichte, die mich sofort gefesselt hat. Aber leider kam es nicht zu einem Durchbruch der Geschichte. Außerdem hatte ich auch das Gefühl, dass die Protagonistin zu wenig Präsenz hatte. Auch wenn es so viele fantastische Elemente gab, gab es leider auch keinen roten Faden. Die Bilder, die die Wörter erzeugen, sind stellenweise grandios; ich mochte die Szenen mit dem silbernen Fisch und der Kälte des Wassers, aber leider gab es gar keine Anhaltspunkte um tatsächlich was aus diesen Bildern zu machen. Auch die Familienmitglieder oder das Gesellschaftsbild einer Frau/Witwe werden nur schwach angerissen, aber nicht weiter ausgeführt. Klar kann man auch nur anhand der grundlegenden Bedeutungen der Elemente arbeiten, aber das wäre zu allgemein. Somit hätte ich ein paar Hinweise mehr im Text sehr begrüßt um die Geschichte wirklich genießen und einordnen zu können.
** Dieses Buch wurde mir über NetGalley als E-Book zur Verfügung gestellt **
September 2, 2020
An Yu, who lives in Beijing, was educated in New York and writes in English. Apparently, this is the reason for her receiving a large advance from her publisher, as her perspective as a Chinese national but writing for a different audience will lend clarity for the English reader of a story set in China without the burden of being translated. The result, a truly immersive novel, hypnotic in tone, with a view of Chinese life more coherent than most. Jia Jia discovers her husband's body dead in the bathtub with a provocative sketch nearby of a fish with a man's face. Despite his enormous wealth, her husband has left her barely taken care of, not a surprise since there didn't seem to be much of a marriage there to begin with, both having married for each other's own convenience. As she pursues her life as an artist, she ultimately takes a trip to Tibet, seeking the reason behind the mysterious drawing, and thus discovers her own path.
September 25, 2020
Special thanks to Netgalley and the publisher for an e-ARC in exchange for an honest review
I absolutely love this debut novel from Chinese author An Yu.
Wu Jia Jia finds her husband dead with his head in the bathtub and nothing but a drawing of a fish man lying next to him - yeah, you read that right. From there, she tries to figure out how to move forward with her life while also trying to understand what the drawing of the fish man has to do with her husband's death. Like everyone, she's dealing with her complicated family and love life as well.
Magical realism is a hit or miss for me, and this one was a HIT. An Yu managed to make the characters believable and the story of the fish man intriguing enough without being overbearing. Honestly, the fish man kind of made this a page turner for me cause I really wanted her to find him and understand what was happening to her. I feel that a lot of people don't like magical realism because it can be complicated and difficult to understand, but this is just... perfect. The reader can definitely come to their own conclusions on what the fish man and the world of water means to them, plus they could also have some fun analyzing the novel. Magical realism can also be hard to connect to emotionally, but I truly felt for Jia Jia and her relationship/family/emotional hardships, which made the dream-like sections more interesting because I was with her in them. I wanted to be where Jia Jia was.
I know that I would have had a field day with this in any literature course in college. I couldn't help myself from analyzing any time colors were mentioned, or when meals were being eaten (braised pork, anyone?), or whenever the fish man was mentioned, or someone's physical state was described. Oh, the papers I could write.
This story also added some culture to my reading, which I have been deprived of lately. Diversify your reading! Pick this one up!
This story is more contemplative and thought-provoking than action/plot based, which I personally enjoyed, but others may not. I can't wait for this to have a wider audience so I can read other interpretations. If anything, read this for my benefit please.
Highly recommended.
Happy Reading!
"Even if I take my heart out, dissect it into pieces, and explain each piece in intricate detail to you - in the end, I would still have to stuff the whole damn thing back into my own chest."
I absolutely love this debut novel from Chinese author An Yu.
Wu Jia Jia finds her husband dead with his head in the bathtub and nothing but a drawing of a fish man lying next to him - yeah, you read that right. From there, she tries to figure out how to move forward with her life while also trying to understand what the drawing of the fish man has to do with her husband's death. Like everyone, she's dealing with her complicated family and love life as well.
Magical realism is a hit or miss for me, and this one was a HIT. An Yu managed to make the characters believable and the story of the fish man intriguing enough without being overbearing. Honestly, the fish man kind of made this a page turner for me cause I really wanted her to find him and understand what was happening to her. I feel that a lot of people don't like magical realism because it can be complicated and difficult to understand, but this is just... perfect. The reader can definitely come to their own conclusions on what the fish man and the world of water means to them, plus they could also have some fun analyzing the novel. Magical realism can also be hard to connect to emotionally, but I truly felt for Jia Jia and her relationship/family/emotional hardships, which made the dream-like sections more interesting because I was with her in them. I wanted to be where Jia Jia was.
I know that I would have had a field day with this in any literature course in college. I couldn't help myself from analyzing any time colors were mentioned, or when meals were being eaten (braised pork, anyone?), or whenever the fish man was mentioned, or someone's physical state was described. Oh, the papers I could write.
This story also added some culture to my reading, which I have been deprived of lately. Diversify your reading! Pick this one up!
This story is more contemplative and thought-provoking than action/plot based, which I personally enjoyed, but others may not. I can't wait for this to have a wider audience so I can read other interpretations. If anything, read this for my benefit please.
Highly recommended.
Happy Reading!
January 24, 2021
I am quite comfortable with "Wikipedia books" (or films), i.e. books or films that I need to read up on just to figure them properly. Sometimes (e.g. with Mulholland Drive) I've missed out something at first and it's wonderful to have all the pieces fall in place later.
With Braised Pork , unfortunately, I didn't have that experience. There's a lot that is hard to figure. It's a comfort to know that I'm not the only one, though. As this review in The Guardian states, "weird things keep happening" in the book and it is a "perplexing read". Like some of the other reviewers on Goodreads, I couldn't figure why it has its title.
The number one reason to overlook this feature of the book is the superb job An Yu has done in getting the reader to completely get into the main character's mind. I might be labouring the point, but this mind is a bit more given to weirdness than other minds. However, the events of Jia Jia's life, including the loss of her husband, her exploration of a new relationship, and most of all her efforts to decipher a strange drawing her husband leaves behind are all told in a very immersive way, with a lot of commentary about contemporary Chinese society.
The other thing that stood out for me was its cast of very interesting and well-fleshed-out characters, including Jia Jia's family, people she meets in Tibet and even insignificant ones like a car park attendant.
I don't see why An Yu has to be compared to Murakami, but many people seem to do that.
With Braised Pork , unfortunately, I didn't have that experience. There's a lot that is hard to figure. It's a comfort to know that I'm not the only one, though. As this review in The Guardian states, "weird things keep happening" in the book and it is a "perplexing read". Like some of the other reviewers on Goodreads, I couldn't figure why it has its title.
The number one reason to overlook this feature of the book is the superb job An Yu has done in getting the reader to completely get into the main character's mind. I might be labouring the point, but this mind is a bit more given to weirdness than other minds. However, the events of Jia Jia's life, including the loss of her husband, her exploration of a new relationship, and most of all her efforts to decipher a strange drawing her husband leaves behind are all told in a very immersive way, with a lot of commentary about contemporary Chinese society.
The other thing that stood out for me was its cast of very interesting and well-fleshed-out characters, including Jia Jia's family, people she meets in Tibet and even insignificant ones like a car park attendant.
I don't see why An Yu has to be compared to Murakami, but many people seem to do that.
July 18, 2020
I found myself, in late february, reading An Yu's debut novel, Braised Pork, the story of which unfolds in modern-day Beijing, as we trail the restless venture of Jia Jia, who, following the death of her husband, seek answers to the puzzling sketch of a "fish-man" left behind by him. With a vague Murakami essence, it reminded me of the disconcerting yet refined style of Yoko Ogawa's The Memory Police, and the compulsion of Han Kang's triptych The Vegetarian.
Water runs deep through the book like a leitmotif: the way Maurice Ravel composes a symphony - motival, gaining its power by repetition, deluging Jia Jia, in a dream scene reminiscent of the opening of Guillermo del Toro's film The Shape of Water. While Toro uses metaphors of water to evoke sensuality, An Yu uses it to explore grief and desolation. Yu thematizes a lot at the same time, both plainly and between the lines: exploration of the mind, of loneliness, identity, desire, mysticism.
But without any suggestion from author's part, it's entirely possible that my patchily educated brain merely glossed over it without truly comprehending. Or it could be that there is an entire universe of allusions and half-connected ideas from which the reader is expected to weave his own tapestry. Even if that weren't the case, the frequent veering into the Dali-esque "world of water", often punctured my perfect reading demeanor. However, my criticisms are nitpicky. An Yu has created a fairly succinct, and a very successful debut. With sparse but elegant prose, Yu leads us into the abyss of a woman's mind, only to leave us behind with many questions unanswered, which is, perhaps why it has such an impact.
Thank you Vintage for the advance copy, which was provided in exchange for an honest opinion.
Water runs deep through the book like a leitmotif: the way Maurice Ravel composes a symphony - motival, gaining its power by repetition, deluging Jia Jia, in a dream scene reminiscent of the opening of Guillermo del Toro's film The Shape of Water. While Toro uses metaphors of water to evoke sensuality, An Yu uses it to explore grief and desolation. Yu thematizes a lot at the same time, both plainly and between the lines: exploration of the mind, of loneliness, identity, desire, mysticism.
But without any suggestion from author's part, it's entirely possible that my patchily educated brain merely glossed over it without truly comprehending. Or it could be that there is an entire universe of allusions and half-connected ideas from which the reader is expected to weave his own tapestry. Even if that weren't the case, the frequent veering into the Dali-esque "world of water", often punctured my perfect reading demeanor. However, my criticisms are nitpicky. An Yu has created a fairly succinct, and a very successful debut. With sparse but elegant prose, Yu leads us into the abyss of a woman's mind, only to leave us behind with many questions unanswered, which is, perhaps why it has such an impact.
Thank you Vintage for the advance copy, which was provided in exchange for an honest opinion.
June 24, 2023
"Braised Pork" by An Yu is a haunting masterpiece that cuts right to the core of the human experience. It's a soul-stirring exploration of that overwhelming feeling of perpetual disconnection and lifelessness that can consume us.
The protagonist in the book embarks on a quest for meaning and connection after her husband's sudden death. As she delves into his personal belongings, she stumbles upon a mysterious drawing of a fish with a human head, which sets her off on a surreal exploration of her own emotions.
An Yu's writing style is truly captivating. She weaves together vivid imagery and a hauntingly introspective narrative, painting a picture of a world that feels simultaneously familiar and detached. The prose lingers in your mind, evoking a sense of longing and emptiness that is hard to shake off.
Through the protagonist's journey, we experience her struggles with the monotony and disconnection of everyday life. It's as if she's caught in a perpetual cycle of existence without truly living. The symbolism of the fish with a human head serves as a metaphor for the search for identity and purpose in a world that often feels indifferent.
The book's exploration of disconnectedness goes beyond the protagonist's personal experiences. It delves into larger themes of societal isolation and the struggle to find one's place in a world that can sometimes feel overwhelming and apathetic. It's a poignant reflection on the human condition and the universal yearning for connection.
The book may not offer definitive answers or tidy resolutions, but that's part of its beauty. It captures the essence of the disconnect many of us feel in our own lives, reminding us that we are not alone in our search for meaning and belonging.
The protagonist in the book embarks on a quest for meaning and connection after her husband's sudden death. As she delves into his personal belongings, she stumbles upon a mysterious drawing of a fish with a human head, which sets her off on a surreal exploration of her own emotions.
An Yu's writing style is truly captivating. She weaves together vivid imagery and a hauntingly introspective narrative, painting a picture of a world that feels simultaneously familiar and detached. The prose lingers in your mind, evoking a sense of longing and emptiness that is hard to shake off.
Through the protagonist's journey, we experience her struggles with the monotony and disconnection of everyday life. It's as if she's caught in a perpetual cycle of existence without truly living. The symbolism of the fish with a human head serves as a metaphor for the search for identity and purpose in a world that often feels indifferent.
The book's exploration of disconnectedness goes beyond the protagonist's personal experiences. It delves into larger themes of societal isolation and the struggle to find one's place in a world that can sometimes feel overwhelming and apathetic. It's a poignant reflection on the human condition and the universal yearning for connection.
The book may not offer definitive answers or tidy resolutions, but that's part of its beauty. It captures the essence of the disconnect many of us feel in our own lives, reminding us that we are not alone in our search for meaning and belonging.
January 9, 2020
This must be a first: finishing an arc on the day the book is being published! This is a debut novel by Chinese writer An Yu and so many of the themes in this book deeply resonate with me: family, love, grief, belonging. Let me make it clear that if you don’t like magical realism then this book will not be for you. It is very dream like as Jia Jia who finds her husband dead in the bathtub one day after breakfast. For the first time in her life there is space and time to ponder who she is and what she wants to do when she discovers this mysterious world of water. I liked the imagery of opposites and the dream like nature of this book. A great debut and shall definitely look for more books by the author in future.
May 27, 2020
Jia Jia's husband kills himself and leaves behind a drawing of a fish man. Now that's totally off so I needed to know what the meaning was behind it. I thought Jia Jia would learn of some sort of past of her husbands or that there would be a lot of adventure for her but not much happened. I do like how Jia Jia grew and we were able to see a lot of character development. I did enjoy this book however - the ending sadly disappointed me because I didn't get any of the answers I was looking for. I still don't entirely understand the fish man meaning so maybe I just didn't get it but it felt like too many plots were trying to be put into one ending. It kept me interested but left me disappointed.
December 3, 2020
3.5 Stars for Braised Pork (audiobook) by An Yu read by Vera Chok. I thought the story was interesting. I liked the insight into Chinese Culture. But when it got into the supernatural it kind of lost me. The narration was fine.
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