Growl of an Asian Tiger

Should you have the time, pick up a copy of Wei Hui's Shanghai Baby. Whilst it is tempting, don't lump her with other Chinese writers; there is nothing Wild Swanish about Shanghai Baby and if you are an urban female, anywhere in the world, I think you will find many parallels.

It's a relief to find such a read (actually it is a relief to read) by a female Chinese author. She doesn't write with that expected tone of destitude and tragedy that seem to define many female Chinese authors. Even the bittersweet Joy Luck Club had its fair share of frail heroines. After a load of stories set against a backdrop of Chinese history, this urban tale about sex, drugs, deceit and discovery is refreshing...and best of all, the parallels are so close, you can almost smell it.

I am not that well read in terms of female Asian authors (or any author for that matter) but I steer clear of Indian writers. I'm sorry, but I just don't get it. Books that have been hailed as the next best thing have caught me yawning and looking for the next best thing on the shelf. I had just about given up on the Chinese but the tale and tone of Shanghai Baby nailed it for me. I am further impressed that it managed to hold its shape despite a translation.

As for female English writers, I was browsing the well-stocked bookshelves at Changi airport and was most disappointed at the number of chick-lit a.k.a Trash on the market these days. The plots are neither captivating nor mildly exciting. But what really put me off, despite their rather fun titles, is what I will term Metro-lit. Yes, men writing about men, chick-lit style.

The idea of men over-analysing situations and behaviour (outside the confines of work), plotting with their best friends to get the girl of their dreams and other such abnormal male behavior, is so beyond the call of nature that it throws me off completely. I find that it intrudes into my girl-space and is a sorry excuse for gay men to pass of as straight men.

I refuse to redefine my girl behaviour to accomodate The New Age Man because there is no such thing. The New Age Man is an exaggeration of what was there all along. So don't come and do the chick thing on paper 'cos it sounds downright gay. If you are gay - fine - write your gay lit but don't pretend to be straight and tell us stories about sensitive urban guys who trawl Manhatten clubs in search of rainbows. It's deceitful.

That aside, so I ended up with Sue Townsend's Adrian Mole and The Weapons Of Mass Destruction. So far it has not been an exciting read. Obviously, I wouldn't be blogging otherwise. I actually even did some filing today.

It pisses me off that Adrian has turned out the way he has (ie. Complete Loser) and his life has failed to amuse me. It is a disappointment because I had so enjoyed reading abouthis youth. (On what I think about wanting to read happy endings, see the next post.)

Actually, anything that reminds me of the reality that is now England and the English really puts me off. I cannot believe that it can still call itself a Developed Nation when Blockbuster Video and Turkey Twisters can still sustain themselves in this day and age.