First of all, this should be called Taiwan Foodlog, because DO NOT read this while hungry. Unless you live in Taiwan and can get to all the foods described VIVIDLY. The actual descriptions of the sights and sceneries (with and without foods) are also immensely evocative, especially when put into perspective of the complex colonial history of Taiwan, which is SUCH a melange of cultures. Secondly, do familiarize yourself with the matryoshka doll of translations, real and fictional, that this story is wrapped in to fully appreciate why this deserves the heck out of the Translated Literature National Book Award. The premise -- of a Taiwanese author writing a fictional translation of a fictional Japanese novel about a Japanese woman's travels Japanese-ruled Taiwan with her Taiwanese translator -- is mind-bogglingly subversive, anti-colonial and a formidable triumph of metafiction. Once you peel all the layers of the onion off, however, the story is such a gentle exploration of non-explicit queer longing navigating not homophobia, but irreconcilable dynamics of the colonizer and the colonized. The writing itself is so incredibly evocative, you will drool and sigh throughout. This needs to be prestige television IMMEDIATELY.

Thanks to Netgalley for the free eARC. I will be raving about this one for a long time to come.

This English translation of the novel, written in Mandarin Chinese but posited as the Chinese translation of a Japanese novel, is a bit of a complex web to sort out, especially because the conceit (the fictional translation) is so well executed. Because the novel is presented as a translation, it includes footnotes that expand on the differences between particular words that use Han characters but are transliterated and pronounced differently among Japanese, Mandarin, and Taiwanese Hokkien. Admittedly, this aspect of the novel was lost on me. Another aspect lost on me and that played a large role in the novel were the foods of Taiwan, often compared with those of Japan. Foods played this role because the fictional Japanese author of Taiwan Travelogue had an insatiable appetite and wanted to explore Taiwan’s cuisine. Despite these two aspects of the novel that I could not appreciate, I did very much appreciate the novel, which explores the unequal relationship between the Japanese author and her Taiwanese translator and travel companion. The story takes place in 1938, forty-three years into Japan’s occupation of Taiwan. The evolving relationship between the two characters subtly reflects the inequities of the relationship as well as develops two compelling characters in their own right. I found the book interesting and very well executed despite my own limitations of appreciating it fully.

Real Rating: 3.75* of five

What it says on the tin: travelogue, heartbreakingly period-appropriate lesbian-longing story told in marvelously evocative prose. I can add nothing except to quote literary lion Bruna Dantas Lobato: "There isn't a single sentence in this powerful metafictional journey through food, language, relationships, and translation that doesn't carry the weight of history."

I'm not four-starring it because it felt very mannered in a way I did not enjoy, as a matter of my own literary tastes, in that same way Han Kang's or Paulo Coelho's work feels. Always respectfully translated and worthy stories; something stands in the way of my loving them.

i have been completely engrossed recently by TAIWAN TRAVELOGUE by Yáng Shuāng-zǐ, so now i want people to gush about it to.

there are many layers to this this book: it takes place in Taiwan in the 20th century while it was a colony of Japan, and follows a fictional japanese author who is invited to tour Taiwan and write about it in promotion of the empire. Aoyama-san (the author) doesn’t have interest in writing about Taiwan to help support the empire’s image, but she has always wanted to travel there (and try as much food is possible). while she is there is assigned an interpreter, who she quickly gives the nickname Chi-chan and romance ensues.

the romance in this novel becomes a tool to explore the historical colonization of Taiwan by contrasting the privileges and also limitations these women face under empire, while one has the higher social status as colonizer (Japanese) over the colonized (Taiwanese). i found Aoyama-san’s view of Chi-chan to be very sweet and tender, but also very bittersweet.

i’ll admit i was a little intimidated going into this book because it is historical fiction about an era and region i don’t consider myself very knowledgeable on. on top of that it is metafiction that is translated…which just blows my mind. the english edition is in a way three voices, the fictional Aoyama, the real author in the original, and the translator. isn’t that so cool!! i found i had no reason to fear, and i enjoyed how much i learned about Taiwanese food and culture, and am grateful to have been exposed to a history i didn’t know

This fascinating piece of metafiction had me both confused and intrigued. A tall Japanese writer with a monstrous appetite spends time in occupied Taiwan and grows infatuated with her local interpreter, a mysterious woman whose name is very close to her own. The writer seeks novelty and to consume everything native/local, which is an apt description for the Japanese colonial endeavor. She presents as somewhat naive and dense, in that she truly believes she has her beloved interpreter's best interests at heart. It is not till the end that she becomes aware of how dismissive she has been. In modern language, we might say that she was committing micro-aggressions and not understanding the impact. The novel presents a unique perspective into this particular time and place, and especially so because of its use of this unique relationship as its vehicle.

Thanks very much to the publisher and NetGalley for the eARC of Taiwan Travelogue (translated into English by Lin King). It took me a minute to pick up on the various layers of metafiction going on here, but I really fell in love with the story, the characters, and the beyond creative faux-nonfiction form of this (complete with a fictional “translator’s note” and many footnotes). This book is a finalist for the National Book Award in translated literature this year, and I think that’s well-deserved. Highly recommend, especially if you like fiction in unique forms.

This is a novel about translation, colonialism, true friendship and what impedes it, and food (so much food!). That sounds cozy, but in spite of the many descriptions of lavish meals, this is not a cozy book, although it takes the main character some time to realize that. It's wrapped in layers of fiction and nonfiction, beginning with several translators notes (and concluding with more, only the last of which is actually written by anyone other than the author), as it claims to be the travel diary of the young Japanese author Aoyama Chizuko who is exploring Taiwan after the successful adaptation of her first novel to film. She wants to taste (devour, really, Chizuko is endlessly hungry) true Taiwanese culture; those who invite her and set up her lectures often have other ideas about the aspects she should celebrate (especially the Japanese colonial agenda). She's lucky enough to be assigned the astonishing, able-to-arrange anything Chizuru as her translator and guide (and endless procurer of foodstuffs), and she falls in love with her. But this is a novel where colonialism is literally consumption (and translation is no less complicated), and Chizuko is a naive narrator who takes most of the book to understand even a glimmering of her impact.
I enjoyed it.

Thanks to the author, the publisher, and Netgalley for my free earc in exchange for an honest review. My opinions are all my own.

This first caught my attention because of an apt comparison to one of my favorite authors, Sarah Waters. Now this emotional metafictional novel is longlisted for a National Book Award and I’m thrilled more readers will pick it up. The story opens with a faux translator’s note explaining that what you are about to read is a new translation of a Japanese text–a real travelog that was fictionalized into a novel. The novel itself is the pages of that novel, complete with translator’s notes explaining linguistic decisions and cultural touchstones. All of this is catnip for me and it worked brilliantly, but the heart of the book is the beautiful and evocative relationship that develops between two women: the novelist Chizuko and her charismatic guide Chizuru. It’s rare for a novel to craft a meticulous structure, historical world-building, and resonant characters, but this one masterfully does it all.

Recipe for TAIWAN TRAVELOGUE (serves 2):
8 cups descriptions of food (chopped, diced, mashed, sliced, julienned, cubed, stir-fried, roasted, boiled, broiled, simmered, pan-fried, let to rest, blended, churned, folded, mixed, fermented)
2 tablespoons commentary on power dynamics in colonial systems
1 dash of lesbian romantic longing

Sprinkle with meta-commentary about translation just before serving.

TAIWAN TRAVELOGUE was one of my most highly anticipated new releases this year. While it didn’t quite meet my sky-high expectations, it still offers some great food (heh) for thought in its reflections on the nuances of translation and colonialism, and its National Book Award shortlisting will hopefully bring it more to your attention.

TAIWAN TRAVELOGUE is disguised as a long-lost text written by a Japanese novelist, Aoyama Chizuko, who visits Taiwan during the years of Japanese occupation (first half of the 20th century), guided by the capable hands of her local interpreter, whom she calls Chi-chan. Aoyama, who has a ravenous appetite, is amazed by all of her new culinary experiences. However, the graceful Chi-chan, whom she has come to regard as more than a friend, seems unwilling to reciprocate her effusive declarations of affinity. Why?

I am Taiwanese, but I’m not a foodie. There are a LOT of descriptions of food, often dumped in endless pages of conversations between Aoyama and Chi-chan, that had my eyes glazing over. If you’re a more patient reader than me, you’ll probably appreciate this thorough portrait of Taiwanese cuisine more. In my opinion, though, this was a maybe-not-quite-so-successful ruse at hiding the book’s much more interesting (to me) commentary about colonialism and power dynamics.

Aoyama-san, our first-person narrator, is… a lot to take. If she sounds familiar as you’re reading, it’s because she’ll remind you of present-day tourists who swan into a place, simultaneously requesting a menu of “the local flavors” while complaining about hygiene of operating a food stall on the side of a busy road. Here is where I loved TAIWAN TRAVELOGUE and would die for it. Yang Shuang-zi wrote this nearly 100 years after Aoyama’s timeline and it’s still relevant today.

Power differences between individuals as a result of their differing countries’ relationship with one another are uncomfortable to talk about. Like Aoyama-san, many of us would prefer to pretend as if we are no different from the maid who cleans our house weekly, the local tour guide on our overseas trips, or the driver we hire for our day trips because there is no public transportation. (Side note: If you want to read more about this topic, I highly recommend Justin Farrell’s Billionaire Wilderness: The Ultra-Wealthy and the Remaking of the American West.) This is why we call them our “friends” and end up feeling weird that we are expected to tip them. Friends don’t have to tip friends, right?

But we ARE different. Throughout TAIWAN TRAVELOGUE, Aoyama receives Chi-chan’s above-and-beyond service to her as if it’s her due (as another character commented, Chi-chan’s actions of cooking for Aoyama “far exceeded the responsibilities of an interpreter”). As they travel around Taiwan, Aoyama makes blithe comparisons between Mainland (Japanese) and Islander (Taiwanese) aspects, sometimes extolling the virtues of Islander flavors in an exoticizing way, other times tactlessly commenting on the ways in which the Mainland’s “investments” into the Island have made things better for the local population.

It’s cringe, but it’s also recognizable. It takes nearly 300 pages to get there, but it’s a searing depiction of colonial/imperial power dynamics like I’ve never read before.

As a bonus, the “disguise” of the book as a re-published travelogue of a deceased Japanese writer, that has been translated into Chinese, into English, back into Japanese, etc., creates an opportunity for some clever metacommentary about translation in the “afterwords.” Lin Kang, the translator, also adds her own afterword!

Overall, too many descriptions of food for my taste, but with some great themes for deep discussion.