A Review of Elysha Chang’s A Quitter’s Paradise (Zando, 2023)
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ccape
Written by Stephen Hong Sohn
Edited by Corinna Cape
*reviewer’s note: In my aim to cover as much ground and texts as I can, I’m focusing on shorter lightning reviews that get to the gist of my reading experience! As Asian American literature has boomed, my time to read this exponentially growing archive has only diminished. I will do my best, as always!
Well, there’s something in the water with Asian American writers exploring the “quitting narrative,” as is evidenced by Elysha Chang’s surprisingly affecting debut A Quitter’s Paradise (Zando, 2023). I read this one on the heels of Katherine Lin’s You Can’t Stay Here Forever, which also involves the main character engaging in a major live pivot that ultimately ends up with her quitting her job as a lawyer. Let’s let the marketing description give us more context for Chang’s novel: “Eleanor is doing just fine. Yes, she’s keeping secrets from her husband. Sure, she quit her PhD program and is now conducting unauthorized research on illegitimately procured mice. And, true, her mother is dead, and Eleanor has yet to go through her things. But what else is she supposed to do? What shape can grief take when you didn’t understand the person you’ve lost? Resisting at every turn, Eleanor tumbles blindly down a path toward confronting her present. As Eleanor’s avoidance of her feelings results in a series of outrageous—often hilarious—choices, her actions begin to threaten all she holds most dear. Meanwhile, glimpses of Eleanor’s childhood and family history in Taiwan unfurl, revealing long-held secrets, and Eleanor starts to realize that she will never be able to escape her grief, or her family, despite her wildest attempts. But will she be brave enough to withstand the reckoning she’s hurtling toward? At once disarmingly provocative and compulsively readable, A Quitter’s Paradise is an unexpectedly funny study of the beauty and contradictions of grief, family bonds, and self-knowledge, exploring the ways we unwittingly guard the secrets of our loved ones, even from ourselves.”
This novel was a really quirky read; I sometimes didn’t know where the novel would take us, and I especially appreciated that it is filled with quiet surprises. The other thing that the description does not detail, and which is a major part of the plot, even early on, is that Eleanor is engaged in an extramarital affair with someone from her former lab. This relationship, though certainly awkward, anchors the novel emotionally, because we get a fuller sense of Eleanor’s inner turmoil. While she presents a certain picture to her husband, there is clearly so much more going on beneath the surface. In this way, the novel paints a picture involving a character that might be said to be going through an early life crisis. I had just also finished reading Yaa Gyasi’s Transcendent Kingdom, and it was interesting to read two books side by side that involved women in traditionally male-dominated spaces like scientific laboratories. You could immediately sense that, for Eleanor, this space is not fulfilling, and that she is desperately seeking a way to address not only her grief (her mother has passed away), but also the fact that she feels especially alone without strong biological anchors. This novel also reminds me of a handful of others involving Asian American women who ultimately quit their Phd programs—Weike Wang’s Chemistry, and Elaine Hsieh Chou’s Disorientation—so we’re getting these narratives that truly complicate the model minority stereotype. Chang’s got a really unique style, and I look forward to what she has in store for us next.
Buy the Book Here
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ccape
Written by Stephen Hong Sohn
Edited by Corinna Cape
*reviewer’s note: In my aim to cover as much ground and texts as I can, I’m focusing on shorter lightning reviews that get to the gist of my reading experience! As Asian American literature has boomed, my time to read this exponentially growing archive has only diminished. I will do my best, as always!
Well, there’s something in the water with Asian American writers exploring the “quitting narrative,” as is evidenced by Elysha Chang’s surprisingly affecting debut A Quitter’s Paradise (Zando, 2023). I read this one on the heels of Katherine Lin’s You Can’t Stay Here Forever, which also involves the main character engaging in a major live pivot that ultimately ends up with her quitting her job as a lawyer. Let’s let the marketing description give us more context for Chang’s novel: “Eleanor is doing just fine. Yes, she’s keeping secrets from her husband. Sure, she quit her PhD program and is now conducting unauthorized research on illegitimately procured mice. And, true, her mother is dead, and Eleanor has yet to go through her things. But what else is she supposed to do? What shape can grief take when you didn’t understand the person you’ve lost? Resisting at every turn, Eleanor tumbles blindly down a path toward confronting her present. As Eleanor’s avoidance of her feelings results in a series of outrageous—often hilarious—choices, her actions begin to threaten all she holds most dear. Meanwhile, glimpses of Eleanor’s childhood and family history in Taiwan unfurl, revealing long-held secrets, and Eleanor starts to realize that she will never be able to escape her grief, or her family, despite her wildest attempts. But will she be brave enough to withstand the reckoning she’s hurtling toward? At once disarmingly provocative and compulsively readable, A Quitter’s Paradise is an unexpectedly funny study of the beauty and contradictions of grief, family bonds, and self-knowledge, exploring the ways we unwittingly guard the secrets of our loved ones, even from ourselves.”
This novel was a really quirky read; I sometimes didn’t know where the novel would take us, and I especially appreciated that it is filled with quiet surprises. The other thing that the description does not detail, and which is a major part of the plot, even early on, is that Eleanor is engaged in an extramarital affair with someone from her former lab. This relationship, though certainly awkward, anchors the novel emotionally, because we get a fuller sense of Eleanor’s inner turmoil. While she presents a certain picture to her husband, there is clearly so much more going on beneath the surface. In this way, the novel paints a picture involving a character that might be said to be going through an early life crisis. I had just also finished reading Yaa Gyasi’s Transcendent Kingdom, and it was interesting to read two books side by side that involved women in traditionally male-dominated spaces like scientific laboratories. You could immediately sense that, for Eleanor, this space is not fulfilling, and that she is desperately seeking a way to address not only her grief (her mother has passed away), but also the fact that she feels especially alone without strong biological anchors. This novel also reminds me of a handful of others involving Asian American women who ultimately quit their Phd programs—Weike Wang’s Chemistry, and Elaine Hsieh Chou’s Disorientation—so we’re getting these narratives that truly complicate the model minority stereotype. Chang’s got a really unique style, and I look forward to what she has in store for us next.
Buy the Book Here
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