Attempting to shine a light of the unsung voices of Hong Kong's political turmoil during 2019, K.X. Song joins the legion of opportunistic, unqualified "authors" capitalising off of Hong Kong's marketability (Eastern enough that readers will feel diverse for picking up the book, Westernised enough that white people won't feel like they're not being centred), pretending to be at the forefront of the city's political scene in order to weave a cheap, shallow love story that could only compel faux activists of her ilk.
Filled to the brim with Cantonese and Mandarin phrases, in case the reader forgets the story is set in Hong Kong, Song sells an image of Hong Kong that only people who have never actually been there could be immersed in. Cultural references are either poorly executed ("more fluent [in Cantonese] than Sun Yat Sen himself"), mildly offensive ("[he] looks at me like I'm the reincarnation of SARS", as in the SARS that ravaged Hong Kong) or completely nonsensical ("eighty-nine fifty man", in which "man" is the Cantonese pronunciation of "dollars". We are in Hong Kong, remember?). This likely amazes the overseas crowd with yellow fever, trying to break out of their Americentric ways, but baffles us locals who just want to read a book set in Hong Kong that isn't completely garbage. Unfortunately, between Exciting Times, Batshit Seven and this, it's probably not going to happen.
The events that this novel touches upon are hardly ancient history, so it is stunning that Song had the audacity to rewrite a falsified version of it as a backdrop to a dry teenage romance - this is one of the most controversial moments in Hong Kong, turned into a Romeo and Juliet story for foreigners to ooh and aah over. Her insistence on shining light on diaspora roles in these events, with neither of her main characters being born and raised Hong Kong Chinese, is equally outrageous when those were the individuals with the least stakes in the situation. But clearly Song had to make the story all about people like her, who have the privilege to take off back to their cozy community in the United States whenever they want, away from the Eastern instability that they love to pretend to care about. Sometimes, diaspora Chinese writers need to learn that it is simply not about them.
Upon checking Song's Instagram, one will find several reels promoting An Echo In The City, all of them featuring clips of Asian couples hugging and sharing dim sum, as well as vaguely Orientalist shots of those old-fashioned neon shop signs in Hong Kong that light up at night (sorry to disappoint, most of the city is far more boring), while Taylor Swift songs play in the background. Not one peep about the events that this novel is supposed to cover. Not one.
I usually never claim that people on social media are obligated to post about every political situation that is happening in the world, since it might pose a risk to their safety. Song, however, has shown that she is not afraid of the consequences of speaking on Hong Kong's politics - so long as it gains her money and social clout, of course. The truth is that she simply does not care about Hong Kong unless she can use it as a shiny, exotic attraction to gain the attention of American readers.
As of writing this, Song has gained a six-figure book deal for a second novel. This one has good ratings. As an author, she has already Made It - but my only consolation is that this book will never be sold in the city that she has gleefully and shamefully exploited.