The Semester I Exclusively Read Asian American Literature

...And Everything Felt So Right

Jan 28, 2021

Spring classes are starting back up on Thursday, and I just started season 3 of Grey’s Anatomy. I know it’s a terrible idea, but it’s perfect for when I have multiple deadlines. I get to disappear into an alternate universe and, for a moment, I can exist without despair, despite being way behind on my work.

I have been binging the series because it is reliable, entertaining, and empowering.

Reliable, because I have been watching it since I was 14. It’s been 6 years and I still can’t get over how good it is. I know everything that I need to know, and so, I feel in control and comfortable. I can stop anytime I want. Okay, this is a lie, but I’m less likely to procrastinate when compared to starting a new show.

Entertaining, because I mean, who wouldn’t enjoy the thrill of watching attractive actors perform surgeries? The drama between the characters? Top-notch. The plot development? The cherry on top.

Empowering, because this is the first American TV show I’ve watched that features an Asian American cast member. For that, it will always have a special place in my heart. Sandra Oh taught me the importance of representation, and quite frankly, I’m obsessed with her. I saw myself in Cristina Yang. Her purpose wasn’t to portray an Asian archetype, but rather exist as a normal being, just like her white counterparts.

For a while, she was my hero and she made me believe I wanted to be a surgeon. Then, reality hit. My grades were terrible in all of the science classes I took. No, not in the Asian grading scale. I was actually close to failing. The irony was that I attended a high school renowned for its excellence in math and science. Yet, physics, chemistry, and biology became my worst nemeses. Guess not all Asians are good at science!

I found solace in the English department. Here is the shocker: While my parents are immigrants, they aren’t strict tiger parents who expect me to go into STEM and prioritize my academic success above all else. Indeed, what an anomaly! Jokes aside, I’m thankful for them, for always supporting my choices. But, that bubble burst the moment I took Asian American literature my junior year of high school. I was 16, and I had an epiphany that classic literature and white men often go hand in hand. I remember spending most of my education reading novels written by “The Greats.” Up until then, I had exclusively associated American literature with works written by Ernest Hemingway or F. Scott Fitzgerald, and never found the representation I so desperately craved within the characters in their novels.

In Asian American literature class, I was introduced to Maxine Hong Kingston and her novel The Woman Warrior: Memoirs of a Girlhood Among Ghosts. To me, she is one of the Greats. I realized that just because certain novels are taught universally doesn’t mean they are the best novels for everyone. By prioritizing the works of white men, the U.S. education system inherently sends the message that minority groups matter less and writers of color are less capable.

Source: Alex Jay / Chinese American Eyes

I had always thought that I needed my writing to mirror “The Greats” in order to be considered a competent writer. However, Kingston changed my limited perspective by showcasing her raw feelings throughout her novel, allowing me to realize that the most important aspect of writing is to use my words genuinely.

“The swordswoman and I are not so dissimilar. May my people understand the resemblance soon so that I can return to them. What we have in common are the words at our backs. The idioms for revenge are ‘report a crime’ and ‘report to five families.’ The reporting is the vengeance—not the beheading, not the gutting, but the words. And I have so many words—‘chink’ words and ‘gook’ words too—that they do not fit on my skin.”
— Maxine Hong Kingston

Like Kingston, I found that my words are also my weapon against the injustices in this world. By relating to her experiences in her memoir, I found the courage to speak out against the injustices facing my community. In her novel, I found my voice.

Yet, when I am asked the inevitable question, “What is your favorite novel?” I am greeted with a blank stare at the response of The Woman Warrior. There is no doubt that Kingston isn’t as famous as Mark Twain or J.D. Salinger, but she is one of the most well-known Asian American novelists.

Despite being the 2013 National Medal of Arts Recipient and winning the National Book Critics Circle Award for The Woman Warrior, most American Literature classes choose not to include her book in their curricula. How are we supposed to shape the next generation of minority writers with a lack of role models for them to look up to? We can’t if the education system only caters to one strict definition of American.

President Barack Obama presents the National Medal of Arts to writer Maxine Hong Kingston in a White House ceremony on July 28, 2014. Photo by Jocelyn Augustino. Source: National Endowment for the Arts

For society to truly appreciate these diverse perspectives, we must acknowledge their place at the center of the American narrative. It is essential to read works by “The Greats,” but it is equally important to consider other novels written by writers of color. We should start by viewing hyphenated Americans as real Americans, rather than only emphasizing the hyphenated part.

I’d love to hear from you all! What was the first Asian American novel you read? Who is your favorite Asian American author? Do you have any recommendations? Leave a comment below. Thank you!

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