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Changing
Fiction. Winner of a 2009 PEN/Beyond Margins Award. At once a fairy tale, a fortune, and a translation told through the I Ching , Vietnamese-American author Lily Hoang's CHANGING is a ghostly and miniature novel. Both mysterious and lucid at once, the book follows Little Girl down a century-old path into her family's story. Changing is Little Girl's fate, and in CHANGING she finds an unsettling, beautiful home. Like a topsy-turvy horoscope writer, Hoang weaves a modern novella into the classical form of the I Ching . In glassine sentences, fragmented and new, Jack and Jill fall down the hill over and over again in intricate and ancient patterns. Here is a wonder story for 21st century America. Here is a calligraphic patchwork of sadness.
"This is an impossible thing, a dream object."—Joyelle McSweeney
"This is an impossible thing, a dream object."—Joyelle McSweeney
139 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2008
3 people are currently reading
678 people want to read
About the author
Lily Hoang
42 books120 followersLily Hoang's first book, PARABOLA, won the Chiasmus Press Un-Doing the Novel Contest. She is also the author of the forthcoming novels CHANGING (Fairy Tale Review Press, Dec. 2008) and THE EVOLUTIONARY REVOLUTION (Les Figues Press, 2009-10). She is currently a Visiting Assistant Professor of English & Women's Studies at Saint Mary's College in Indiana."
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Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews
September 6, 2021
i just reread a lot of CHANGING to teach it in a class on innovative writing and holy cow. this book is sui generis.
i wrote a review a long time ago - here's an excerpt [ETA: This book is a NOVEL not memoir and I regret this error which repeats throughout the review]:
In Changing, Hoang translates her life into the “I Ching”, and vice versa, telling her reader’s fortune by narrating her own. The “I Ching” is changed: transformed into a linguistic organism that is highly idiosyncratic while retaining the source text’s enigmatic force and capacity for interpretive proliferation. In its unusual form the narrative works multivalently, functioning as novel, memoir, prophecy, and fairy tale as much as it functions as an (albeit loose) English-language translation of a Chinese text.
Visually structured after the “I Ching”, Changing’s 64 chapters correspond to the source text’s 64 hexagrams. Hoang’s translation interprets the hexagram—traditionally six stacked horizontal lines that are either broken (Yin) or unbroken (Yang)—as six discrete text blocks, some of which are broken into two columns.
Some of these text blocks are directive, instructing the reader in how to read; others, similarly meta, deal with the process of translation; some take up the story of Mother and Father and their immigration to Houston; others of Brother, or of Sister, both of whom are dealing with personal crises; others of little girl (the child version of the narrator); and arguably the most central thread follows with searing honesty the story of the narrator’s romantic relationship, her lover being one of two “you”s in the book (the other “you” is the reader).
Meanwhile, yet another thread involves retelling Western fairy tales like Hansel and Gretel, Jack and Jill—with important changes. These different tales are sometimes merged, Jack and Jill becoming Hansel and Gretel, Jill showing up again later as a girl who lives with the woman who lives in the shoe. Often these tales are deployed to demonstrate issues of gender and power that run through the other threads. Always, they show the narrator appropriating and revising familiar stories as she makes sense of them for her own experience.
...
This kind of opening up of the reading experience, allowing us multiple paths to follow, fits well with the overarching theme of the book, which insists on change, on evolution, on multiplicity of meaning, but also on repetition and the shaky determinism of destiny. Changing proposes story as divination, divination as story: there is a tension here, a moving back and forth between what has happened, what will happen, what must have happened, what must happen. In Changing, we are made to reckon with that vexing struggle between possibility and fate.
i wrote a review a long time ago - here's an excerpt [ETA: This book is a NOVEL not memoir and I regret this error which repeats throughout the review]:
In Changing, Hoang translates her life into the “I Ching”, and vice versa, telling her reader’s fortune by narrating her own. The “I Ching” is changed: transformed into a linguistic organism that is highly idiosyncratic while retaining the source text’s enigmatic force and capacity for interpretive proliferation. In its unusual form the narrative works multivalently, functioning as novel, memoir, prophecy, and fairy tale as much as it functions as an (albeit loose) English-language translation of a Chinese text.
Visually structured after the “I Ching”, Changing’s 64 chapters correspond to the source text’s 64 hexagrams. Hoang’s translation interprets the hexagram—traditionally six stacked horizontal lines that are either broken (Yin) or unbroken (Yang)—as six discrete text blocks, some of which are broken into two columns.
Some of these text blocks are directive, instructing the reader in how to read; others, similarly meta, deal with the process of translation; some take up the story of Mother and Father and their immigration to Houston; others of Brother, or of Sister, both of whom are dealing with personal crises; others of little girl (the child version of the narrator); and arguably the most central thread follows with searing honesty the story of the narrator’s romantic relationship, her lover being one of two “you”s in the book (the other “you” is the reader).
Meanwhile, yet another thread involves retelling Western fairy tales like Hansel and Gretel, Jack and Jill—with important changes. These different tales are sometimes merged, Jack and Jill becoming Hansel and Gretel, Jill showing up again later as a girl who lives with the woman who lives in the shoe. Often these tales are deployed to demonstrate issues of gender and power that run through the other threads. Always, they show the narrator appropriating and revising familiar stories as she makes sense of them for her own experience.
...
This kind of opening up of the reading experience, allowing us multiple paths to follow, fits well with the overarching theme of the book, which insists on change, on evolution, on multiplicity of meaning, but also on repetition and the shaky determinism of destiny. Changing proposes story as divination, divination as story: there is a tension here, a moving back and forth between what has happened, what will happen, what must have happened, what must happen. In Changing, we are made to reckon with that vexing struggle between possibility and fate.
February 23, 2009
Lily Hoang has created something truly unique and altogether fantastic (in nearly every sense of the word) with this book.
I find this a hard book to really talk about. It's perhaps best described as a book of oscillations, in craft and syntax as well as meaning and direction. It's a book that circles in on itself as well as outward, swelling upward like an explosion while sinking into the depths like a whirlpool. Deafening in its unsuspecting force, but also at times in its silence.
This is a book that raises big questions (Are we to believe in fate? If so how seriously do we (should we) take it?)) while keeping itself grounded with an authentic, enjoyable poignancy and honesty that is generated in part from autobiographical themes that seem to course through a lot of Lily's work. It's an experiemental endeavor while at the same time struggling with its roots as a retelling of ancient fortunes.
Most importantly, it's a delicate yet strong book; beautiful and ugly but always enjoyable.
I find this a hard book to really talk about. It's perhaps best described as a book of oscillations, in craft and syntax as well as meaning and direction. It's a book that circles in on itself as well as outward, swelling upward like an explosion while sinking into the depths like a whirlpool. Deafening in its unsuspecting force, but also at times in its silence.
This is a book that raises big questions (Are we to believe in fate? If so how seriously do we (should we) take it?)) while keeping itself grounded with an authentic, enjoyable poignancy and honesty that is generated in part from autobiographical themes that seem to course through a lot of Lily's work. It's an experiemental endeavor while at the same time struggling with its roots as a retelling of ancient fortunes.
Most importantly, it's a delicate yet strong book; beautiful and ugly but always enjoyable.
February 28, 2017
Once upon a time I backed a project on Kickstarter, a deck of cards that tell a story, The Family Arcana (I haven't actually read it yet, but having just learned it is on goodreads, I will have to do so). One of the creator's comments included a link to an article about other books with similarly strange constructions, and this was one of them. It sounded interesting, but since my library system didn't own a copy I wasn't able to easily access it. Recently I've been attempting to get ahead of various lists of books I've been adding to, and in doing so I rediscovered this one and decided to request it through interlibrary loan.
Initial impression from skimming through the book was that it just felt unapproachable. Lots of short blocks of texts seemingly randomly distributed (it took me a bit to realize the text is laid out in the pattern of the hexagrams that inspire each chapter(?)), lots of uses of &'s which in the particular font in the book are visually dominant, and a sort of simplistic writing style that featured annoying repetition (from 48: Welling: "For a week lover it was a week lover that you were sick lover & I have to admit lover" is a good example). But since I had requested it as an ILL, it seemed a waste not to read it, even if I wasn't feeling it at the time (other books I was working on at the time I first got this were likewise a bit distant; I sort of wanted a story I could just sink into, nice and comfortably and get to know the characters). So I read it ritually, 8 sections a day for 8 days. If I had been a bit more clever, I would have found inspiration from the instructions at the end of the book, cut out 64 numbered squares and drawn 8 a day to read. But instead I just read them straight through.
But actually there is nothing wrong with that reading order, and it may even be the preferred one. The book includes "instructions" that suggest reading it as an oracle in whatever order, but there is definitely a sense of linearity to the writing. The text consists mainly of vignettes and scenes from the narrator's life which are continually revisited and re-presented in different ways, so in theory any order would work. But it seemed to me that these scenes were given more complete explanation in earlier chapters, though that could just be bias from how I was introduced to them. But some snippets address the reader and in these there are more that apologize for not actually talking about the reader's fate in later chapters, and more that given instructions on how to read them (bottom-to-top, since that is how trigrams are constructed in the I Ching) in earlier chapters. From a bit before halfway through, I did start reading the chapters bottom to top, starting on the second page of each. As with the more general reading order, I'm not sure if it really mattered, but I did feel like for each chapter the reveal of information and juxtaposition of images was slightly better in reverse order.
Ultimately I didn't dislike the book, but I didn't really like it either. I'm not certain, but it appears to be autobiographical and I find the intimacy it offers raw and uncomfortable. It is unrelentingly negative, the vignettes a stream of injuries, abuse, resentment, and failure, which I dislike for two reasons. One is that I tend to have a negative world view and resent seeing the same in things I read, since that tends to feed the negativity and help confirm the world view of everything being at least a bit crappy. The other is that the book takes inspiration and form from a book of fortunes, which I am sure are about equally good and bad (possibly even biased towards good, since no one wants a bad fortune), and so it fails to reflect its inspiration by being overwhelmingly negative. And I have to admit I don't know the I Ching well enough to really be sure if the themes of the vignettes in each section really match with the fortunes, but some of the blurbs will be a comment on the image of the hexagram, one trigram over another (e.g. Thunder over Mountain). 63 and 64 are Water over Fire and Fire over Water respectively, but the comment on each is of the image Water over Fire. A minor technical flaw, but one that catches my attention, and I think similar errors may exist in other sections.
I feel a bit bad for such a negative review of something that seems such an intimate work for the author. If she benefited from writing this, that is great. But I rate things on my experience of reading them and I didn't really enjoy this work. And in fact, I found myself feeling less empathy with the narrator over time as a sort of self-defense against the negativity and pain in the writing. Also, with how often important scenes from the narrators life are revisited, there are some things that remain annoyingly vague and undefined. Probably clearer explication wouldn't fit the work well, but I still found myself wanting to know more.
Initial impression from skimming through the book was that it just felt unapproachable. Lots of short blocks of texts seemingly randomly distributed (it took me a bit to realize the text is laid out in the pattern of the hexagrams that inspire each chapter(?)), lots of uses of &'s which in the particular font in the book are visually dominant, and a sort of simplistic writing style that featured annoying repetition (from 48: Welling: "For a week lover it was a week lover that you were sick lover & I have to admit lover" is a good example). But since I had requested it as an ILL, it seemed a waste not to read it, even if I wasn't feeling it at the time (other books I was working on at the time I first got this were likewise a bit distant; I sort of wanted a story I could just sink into, nice and comfortably and get to know the characters). So I read it ritually, 8 sections a day for 8 days. If I had been a bit more clever, I would have found inspiration from the instructions at the end of the book, cut out 64 numbered squares and drawn 8 a day to read. But instead I just read them straight through.
But actually there is nothing wrong with that reading order, and it may even be the preferred one. The book includes "instructions" that suggest reading it as an oracle in whatever order, but there is definitely a sense of linearity to the writing. The text consists mainly of vignettes and scenes from the narrator's life which are continually revisited and re-presented in different ways, so in theory any order would work. But it seemed to me that these scenes were given more complete explanation in earlier chapters, though that could just be bias from how I was introduced to them. But some snippets address the reader and in these there are more that apologize for not actually talking about the reader's fate in later chapters, and more that given instructions on how to read them (bottom-to-top, since that is how trigrams are constructed in the I Ching) in earlier chapters. From a bit before halfway through, I did start reading the chapters bottom to top, starting on the second page of each. As with the more general reading order, I'm not sure if it really mattered, but I did feel like for each chapter the reveal of information and juxtaposition of images was slightly better in reverse order.
Ultimately I didn't dislike the book, but I didn't really like it either. I'm not certain, but it appears to be autobiographical and I find the intimacy it offers raw and uncomfortable. It is unrelentingly negative, the vignettes a stream of injuries, abuse, resentment, and failure, which I dislike for two reasons. One is that I tend to have a negative world view and resent seeing the same in things I read, since that tends to feed the negativity and help confirm the world view of everything being at least a bit crappy. The other is that the book takes inspiration and form from a book of fortunes, which I am sure are about equally good and bad (possibly even biased towards good, since no one wants a bad fortune), and so it fails to reflect its inspiration by being overwhelmingly negative. And I have to admit I don't know the I Ching well enough to really be sure if the themes of the vignettes in each section really match with the fortunes, but some of the blurbs will be a comment on the image of the hexagram, one trigram over another (e.g. Thunder over Mountain). 63 and 64 are Water over Fire and Fire over Water respectively, but the comment on each is of the image Water over Fire. A minor technical flaw, but one that catches my attention, and I think similar errors may exist in other sections.
I feel a bit bad for such a negative review of something that seems such an intimate work for the author. If she benefited from writing this, that is great. But I rate things on my experience of reading them and I didn't really enjoy this work. And in fact, I found myself feeling less empathy with the narrator over time as a sort of self-defense against the negativity and pain in the writing. Also, with how often important scenes from the narrators life are revisited, there are some things that remain annoyingly vague and undefined. Probably clearer explication wouldn't fit the work well, but I still found myself wanting to know more.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
Read
January 20, 2014an experimental novella/long prose poem about the recurring conflicts and relationships in the life of a young Vietnamese American woman, with a structure modeled on the I Ching, and recurrent imagery from "Jack and Jill." The unnamed narrator (the little girl, the sister little sister) disagrees frequently with the Translator, and the reader, whom she addresses directly, is sometimes "you lover" and sometimes "you reader" (the reader of her narrative, the reader of the oracles). As far as I can tell, this succeeds in what it sets out to do, but what it sets out to do doesn't appeal to me.
October 16, 2013
"You reading this & wanting to know what it means & looking for answers & I am sick of offering you answers so easy & I want you to look at this I mean really look at this & from these stories find your own future." [pg. 42]
I briefly toyed with the idea of sharing my 64 questions with you, dear reader, but to do so would make me feel far too exposed. Better to keep a little mystery between us.
I briefly toyed with the idea of sharing my 64 questions with you, dear reader, but to do so would make me feel far too exposed. Better to keep a little mystery between us.
July 24, 2012
(Given my policy of rating five stars for anything I like)
The formal adventurousness of this novel, pleasing in itself, also is a means of exploring subjectivity and the pervasive influence of culture upon subjectivity. To mention that Changing uses the I Ching as an organizing principle risks reducing the book to a novelty. In fact, the book's ongoing dialogue with this source is part of its ferment. Changing is both tight and expansive, fiercely playful. It is a brave, uncompromising book.
The formal adventurousness of this novel, pleasing in itself, also is a means of exploring subjectivity and the pervasive influence of culture upon subjectivity. To mention that Changing uses the I Ching as an organizing principle risks reducing the book to a novelty. In fact, the book's ongoing dialogue with this source is part of its ferment. Changing is both tight and expansive, fiercely playful. It is a brave, uncompromising book.
December 6, 2011
At first, I was a little leery of this book due to the unconventional format (it's written in hexagrams and can be read in any order). However, a third of the way in or so, I found myself enjoying the glimpses into its multiple portraits, and I liked the hypnotic cadences of the language. I especially liked the Father.
March 23, 2013
Really, really different. At first I thought it was poetry, but it's really a novel set in the pattern of the I Ching. For anyone looking for something nontraditional, and maybe even a bit mysterious and confusing, I recommend this to you.
January 28, 2021
3.5 stars
Lovely, sparse poetry inspired by the I Ching
Lovely, sparse poetry inspired by the I Ching
June 18, 2016
Inventive and heartbreaking. Lily Hoang is one of the most underappreciated writers out there today.
Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews