Sunday, January 15, 2017

Hallucination City

Here are some pieces I published this year.

Dana Spiotta interview.

Larissa Pham interview. (This was really fun and you should check out her book, Fantasian.)

Short story: "In Love with and Anarchist" (Thanks to Laurel Lathrop for commissioning this story--I've had it for a few years but never found a home for it.)

My friend Elisa Gabbert published this monster essay on disasters, Magnificent Desolation. She also has a book of poetry you should check out:

Elisa mentions my twitter comment about the Twin Towers's sexiness at night but that doesn't really sum up what I think about the Twin Towers so here goes:

Were the Twin Towers objectively ugly or beautiful? Having seen them on fire while standing on Fifth Avenue, I bring too much context before and after to objectively decide: ugly or beautiful. When I said they were sexy at night I was probably side stepping objectivity, but I did think more about why I resisted calling them ugly. The Twin Towers did what every skyscraper does—light up at night—but I think what I meant was that in their unadorned state, they were chic in a way Manhattan used to be chic despite much of its ugliness. On June 13, 2001 I saw a performance of Glenn Branca’s 13th Symphony for 100 Electric Guitars (Hallucination City: at the base of the Twin Towers. While you could imagine hearing jazz or classical music at the base of the Empire State Building or the Chrysler Building, the imposing and ominous Twin Towers were the perfect backdrop for this buzzing, dissonant noise. Not quite beautiful, but compelling and sexy. Those are characteristics I’m more drawn to than beauty. You can attempt objectivity about beauty, and you can separate a thing from its context, but why? Would it have been more of a disaster if the Twin Towers were beautiful? Neither changes the fact that what was there is no longer there. 

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

It's Too Late to Articulate

Ever since I went into full on fan mode with Car Seat Headrest I've had this idea that Will Toledo is the successful son of Nik Kranis, the outsider musician from Dana Spiotta's Stone Arabia. 

The story goes that a Matador intern passed along Car Seat Headrest's bandcamp stuff to Chris Lombardi and that's how he got signed. To have been such a history-making intern! I was an intern at Matador back in the late '90s and the closest I ever got to helping make such a monumental decision was when Chris Lombardi called me into an office to watch Yo La Tengo's video for "Sugarcube" and asked me what I thought. I said I thought it was cool. End of story.

I've teased out this idea of the tyranny of sense-making before, especially when it comes to lyrics. I hold that impressionistic lyrics can be smart without having to make concrete meaning. I often prefer that because key and tone already do the emotional heavy lifting in rock music. Pavement's Grounded and Car Seat Headrest's Drunk Drivers/Killer Whales are both examples of songs where the lyrics become more affecting because of the musical crescendoes and yelped vocals than what the song is actually saying. I suspect Will Toledo was playing with that when he took a song that could have gone for straight meaning-making and shifted things into non-sense when he threw in two words that have the power of the most fist-pumping anthems, but don't fit the context of the previous lyrics. Killer whales? Sounds great! Does is mean anything besides the existential mind fuck that is climate change and species extinction? Does it matter? Not to my mind. I'm sure these are exactly the non-committal lyrical shenanigans that have always irked Stephen Malkmus' critics. Why can't he just GET SERIOUS FOR ONCE? Again--the tyranny of sense-making.

If someone options Spiotta's Stone Arabia for the movies, I nominate Car Seat Headrest to write the soundtrack and provide the musical ephemera. He's the Internet's incarnation of Nik Kranis's self-mythologizing (if you don't write your own myth, who will know you're a genius?)

Got to believe that Lombardi loves me<----this lyric was added to an updated version of "Times to Die", one of the bandcamp songs that got re-recorded and released as Teens of Style. I like that Will Toledo doesn't consider a song finished just because he put it on a record. That's cool.

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Girl In a Band

The reading at the Asian American Writers Workshop was a great night--Kate Gavino is so generous to writers, and I loved her ABCs of being an Asian American Writer. I got to meet spunky writers like Larissa Pham, and I gave away copies of my zine, Tally Ho Sulky.

I was uncharacteristically late because I couldn't find my earphones and I can't bear taking a long subway ride without listening to music. When I arrived my friend Angela said, "Are you late to your own reading?" I nodded, yes, I am.

I read an essay on cassette tapes and how and why I quit my band. No gory details, but broad strokes. I ended up cutting two paragraphs toward the end because they were too personal and I had up to that point kept things fairly light--or as light as an essay on dividing your music collection during a divorce can be.

I've been playing guitar again, and teaching myself bass a bit but I am in absolutely no danger of joining a musical situation. I went to Guitar Center yesterday and played a Belle & Sebastian song, The State That I am In, on the Slash edition of some guitar. It was pretty funny. And I think I hate Fenders. They don't feel good in my hands. I'm glad I sold mine.

If you know me at all you know I have a banana obsession. I learned print making last summer and made a patch for my "Girl in a Band" Halloween costume (I was the rock memoir genre.)

Kate Gavino gave a fun talk and I especially loved this graphic about being an Asian woman and fetishes. I do love a good hot dog.

See--Bananas and hot dogs.

I still look like me.

I suggested we stand for this photo because nobody looks good sitting on the couch at AAWW. Look, we all wear glasses and I wore my librarian's best. Larissa and I talked about writing erotica (she does so, I do not). I liked the idea of choosing a pen name for that. I think the perfect pen name for any erotica I write is Barbara Pym. Librarians/Anthropologists/Sociologists/Learned Conferences-turned-orgies, a re-imagining of the Pym universe in velvet and lace. Maybe not. 

Saturday, April 9, 2016

The Poem

Not long ago I said, "Instead of writing about race I'm going to work on my novel," because that's what white people do while the rest of us defend ourselves from yet another racist event, so I'm really annoyed that I felt compelled to write about race, again.

The reason I am writing this post is because my friend, Elisa Gabbert, wrote: "I feel like racism against Asian Americans is "the other racism" and not taken very seriously." She also very generously included me in a list of writers whose voices she appreciates on this issue.

I am mixed race-- Irish and Taiwanese American to be exact. I used to identify as Asian American but I don't do that anymore because I am not mono-racial. I do have an affinity for my Asian-ness, however, so I identify as a mixed Asian American. I believe your racial affinity lies on a spectrum depending on your interests and your environment. I once spoke Mandarin and Taiwanese, but my sister didn't. I was a Chinese Studies/English Literature double major, while my sister studied film and took Latino Studies classes. Her racial affinity probably lies somewhere else on the spectrum and there's nothing wrong with that.

Because I don't know what it's like to be mono-racial I try to question myself when I am not offended by something Asian Americans are offended by. Maybe in those instances my whiteness protects me.

Calvin Trillin wrote a poem about Chinese food. I've read his other writing with some pleasure, but so what? We're talking about this particular piece of writing, so it doesn't matter if he wrote well before. He didn't this time, and that's what we're taking into account. I believe he's capable of writing something good again. I don't promise to read it, or to enjoy it, but I'm pretty busy. Nothing personal, Mr. Trillin!

My main take on it wasn't offense per se, but world weary head shaking at his corniness. It's like when a white grandpa with mixed Asian grandchildren said to me, "Mixed race Asians are beautiful--like you." I said,"Eh, I've seen ugly ones."

I'd wanted to say that for a long time because I've had people say stuff like that to me my whole life and I want people to see how absurd that way of thinking is. No one chooses who their parents are, so don't place a value judgment on my ethnic makeup; placing a positive value judgement on my ethnic makeup implies there is a wrong combination of ethnicities to be. That kind of "compliment" is one of those supposedly good things that doesn't feel good.

This morning as I curled my hair I looked at myself in the mirror and laughed, remembering an earlier racist event involving poet, Sarah Howe. She is part Chinese, like I am, and apparently some men in England were upset that she won a prestigious poetry prize. This prompted an article in the Guardian titled

TS Eliot prize row: is winner too young, beautiful - and Chinese?

As I looked at myself I remembered the headline and how absurd it was. Do they know how ridiculous they are? How racist? I smiled at myself and wanted to be TOO BEAUTIFUL/TOO CHINESE out of spite. I wished I were more beautiful, and more Chinese. I wanted to be so Chinese and SO BEAUTIFUL I killed anyone who objected to Chinese-ness and Beauty by just looking at them.

I didn't think Trillin's poem was the worst example of racist writing, but I understand why people were upset because the New Yorker supposedly has high standards for publication. How did this make the cut?  I find David Sedaris's essay about a trip to China to be much uglier in its racism. He doesn't even like Chinese food! At least Trilling LOVES Chinese food. Sedaris does this thing where he pits two Asian countries against one another. Japan is clean and civilized while China is dirty and uncivilized. The white man gets to decide!

But let's talk about satire, or self parody. I believe Trillin believes he was parodying his class of bourgeois food-obsessed aesthetes, but those little cuts he made at his own expense don't cut as deep as the daily cuts Asian Americans feel from experienced racism. Asian Americans are always made to feel foreign no matter how deep their American roots are. You can't talk about Chinese immigration today without thinking about The Chinese Exclusion Act. This country was so afraid of Chinese people they enacted legislation to EXCLUDE them. Don't tell us we're being too sensitive when we object to satiric suggestion that there are too many Chinese provinces. We remember how Americans felt about us (and some still do). If you want to talk about Chinese food, let me tell you about my student who goes to school and then works late at her parent's Chinese take out restaurant because they need the money. How about my other student who dropped out of school to work at a Chinese restaurant because her mother became too ill to work. Their lives are tough, and then they have to be the punchline to a white man's attempt at satire? Trillin's satire will never cut him that deeply.

Those who benefit from defending old white men, and whiteness in general, tell us to lighten up, to give racist writing the benefit of the doubt. But they don't give our offense the benefit of the doubt. And if we don't lighten up they say we're angry (always seen as a negative trait) and they call our criticism "attacks".  They belittle the platforms of our criticism. Dismissing our criticism as Twitter storms, or FB rants, or whatever else they deem is an illegitimate forum for airing our grievances. And if we take to the pages of the New York Times to give our side of the story, then they lament that the PC Police are worse than racism or sexism. They see criticism as a loss of their freedom of speech, instead of what it really is: being called to account for your writing and beliefs. Freedom of speech doesn't mean freedom from criticism.

So, even though my initial reaction was to roll my eyes at how CORNY it was, I'm happy other people are pissed, and I support them. We're in an uncomfortable moment on lots of fronts--gender, sexuality, race, class--but that's a good thing. It makes me think things are changing.

I recently told my mother, "Every time I eat a dumpling I'm proud to be part Chinese." (See--I am not above corniness.) She said, "Do you ever wish you were completely white?" I felt so sad when she asked me that. "Never," I said. And it's true. I've never wished I wasn't part Chinese. That would be like wishing I didn't have a mother.

Tuesday, March 15, 2016

Winter Round-Up

Back in the fall I published an essay about my mother's belief in spirits, but one of the initial impulses was to write about a supposedly haunted hotel in Taiwan. One of the unresolved pieces of that puzzle was whether the supposed execution ground the hotel was reportedly built upon was a Japanese-era execution ground, or a Taiwanese KMT-era execution ground. Now I know it was a KMT-era political prison. Read the sad story of families just-now learning what became of their family members during the White Terror era. These letters are heart breaking.

One of my favorite writers, Elisa Gabbert, was interviewed over at the Rumpus. She mentions our exchange for Electric Literature, but do read the interview to bask in her brilliance.

I interviewed one of my favorite writers, Dana Spiotta, for Electric Literature.

Saturday, November 7, 2015

Ghost Stories

I recently published an essay, "My Mother's Ghosts," at Electric Literature.

I originally planned to include a parallel storyline about the supposedly haunted Grant Hyatt Taipei, but my editor asked me to narrow my focus (for which I am grateful). This section now seems timely, given the "historic" meeting between the Chinese and Taiwanese presidents.

Why is the Grant Hyatt Taipei Haunted?

After searching the Internet for  examples of Taiwanese ghost stories, I came across the story of the Grand Hyatt Taipei. Built in 1990, the hotel is rumored to be haunted. Link after link revealed a classic ghost story adapted to the Internet. The travel sites had reviews with titles like “Nice hotel, but haunted,” “Haunted, schmaunted,” and “Haunted beyond belief.” The Daily Telegraph published an article, “The World’s most haunted hotels,” that has this to say about the Grand Hyatt Taipei, “Taipei’s luxurious resort was built over a former wartime political prison and is said to be haunted by the ghosts of several inmates who were executed, according to local residents. The hotel has placed a Chinese sutra and other sacred scrolls throughout the lobby in an attempt to rid the place of any wandering spirits.” Like any good ghost story we have a plausible tragedy confirmed by a secondhand source. There is also an Internet rumor that Jackie Chan refuses to stay at the hotel after encountering spirits. Interestingly, according to the hotel’s Wikipedia page,Jackie Chan is not one of the Notable Guests, but Guns N Roses is listed, perhaps enjoying Chinese democracy while promoting their record, Chinese Democracy.

But why do Taiwanese people believe this hotel is haunted? All I could find were vague references to the hotel being built upon a wartime execution ground, or prison, or cemetery. When Taiwan was a Japanese colony, the Japanese held Allied prisoners of war on the island. I did research to see if the location of the hotel matched up with the known locations of Japanese colonial era prisons and it does not. That doesn’t mean it’s not possible, but POW survivors have published detailed accounts in English and nothing matched up.

The polite consensus about Japanese colonization of Taiwan is that it was a good deal for everyone because Japan built railroads and other infrastructure, but they also suppressed the Taiwanese language, banned Chinese language newspapers, and fought a continuous war against Taiwanese independence guerillas. In 1902 Japan offered these guerrilla fighters amnesty if they came down from the mountains and surrendered. The men gathered at a hall, believing they were being honored, and were told to wear white flowers. Historian Jonathan Manthorpe writes, “When 360 of the partisans were in the hall the doors were bolted and everyone wearing a white flower was killed.”          

In the chain of rumors the ones most grounded in actual historical fact were on Forumosa, a message board catering to Western ex-patriots. Again, the rhetorical strategies of the traditional ghost story are in play. One person says the land was a World War II battlefield, another says it was a prison and execution ground used by the current ruling party, the KMT. A book, “A Taste of Freedom,” by Taiwanese independence activist Peng Ming-min is cited as evidence. Another person claims that his godfather was one of the feng shui experts consulted. The Jackie Chan rumor resurfaces. Everything is second hand, but plausible; nothing is proven.

I went as far as matching up sites on my map of Taipei and taking a ride on Google Street view, but I couldn’t find any definitive markers that proved that the hotel was situated on tainted ground. I read several articles about a neglected cemetery turned into the Martial Law Era Political Victim Memorial Park. It overlooks the land upon which the Grand Hyatt Taipei is built, but it’s too far away to be the origin of the supposed hauntings.

Which brings us to the White Terror. After World War II, control of Taiwan was given to the Kuo Min Tang—the Chinese Nationalist party— who then had a tenuous grasp on China, but they lost the Chinese civil war to the Communists, and fled to Taiwan for good. My mother has a Taiwanese saying about the period when the Japanese left, and the KMT arrived— “The dogs left so the pigs could take over.” Like the Japanese, the KMT suppressed the Taiwanese language, and quashed the Taiwanese independence movement. Many people were imprisoned on suspicion of being Japanese collaborators. In Jiu Fen, a gold mining boom town, my great grandfather and grandfather leased mines from the Japanese colonial government. After the KMT arrived, they fled into the surrounding mountains and hid out until they were sure they wouldn’t be arrested.

On February 27, 1947 a dispute between a cigarette vendor and government officials sparked an uprising. The deaths in the aftermath became known as the 228 Massacre (February 28, 1947). Martial law, and the White Terror lasted from 1945 to 1987, during which time the secret police surveilled political dissidents and civilians, hunting for Communist spies. According to Manthorpe, as many as 90,000 were arrested during this time period, and “about 10,000 of those were actually tried in military courts, but about 45,000 were executed summarily.” Where do forty-five thousand restless spirits go? To put this into perspective, the CIA World Fact Book lists Taiwan as being slightly smaller than Maryland and Delaware combined.

As I rolled past the Martial Law Era Political Victim Memorial Park using Google street view, the land unremarkable, what had seemed like groundless superstition began to read as an expression of a collective grief and fear over past trauma. Even if no one can definitively name the execution ground upon which the Grand Hyatt Taipei supposedly stands, the fact that the hotel hired feng shui experts speaks to how ingrained the memory of terror is. The Martial Law Era Political Victim Memorial Park is one of the government’s shabby apologies for the White Terror, the first of which didn’t come until 1995. Much like Ghost Month, the White Terror is something to honor, but not necessarily talk about. Maybe ghost stories like the Grand Hyatt Taipei persist because the KMT government is still in place, the threat from China never ceases, and Taiwan remains in limbo, like hungry ghosts who died violent deaths, or whose ancestors have ceased to honor them.