Bad Bad Girl
A Novel
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- 99,00 kr
Publisher Description
L.A. TIMES 15 BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR • TIME "100 BEST" • RUPAUL'S BOOK CLUB PICK • An engrossing, blisteringly funny-sad autobiographical novel tracing a tumultuous mother-daughter relationship.
“A transcendent work of art.” —Boston Globe
“Gish Jen has written the multigenerational mother-daughter epic of our new century.” —Junot Díaz
“Heart-piercingly personal. . . . Suffused with love.” —Los Angeles Times
My mother had died, but still I heard her voice. . .
Gish’s mother, Loo Shu-hsin, is born in 1924 to a wealthy Shanghai family whose girls are expected to restrain themselves. Her beloved nursemaid—far more loving to than her real mother—is torn from her even as she is constantly reprimanded: “Bad bad girl! You don’t know how to talk!” Sent to a modern Catholic school by her progressive father, she receives not only an English name—Agnes—but a first-rate education. To his delight, she excels. But even then he can only sigh, “Too bad. If you were a boy, you could accomplish a lot.” Agnes finds solace in books and, in 1947, announces her intention to pursue a PhD in America. As the Communist revolution looms, she sets sail—never to return.
Lonely and adrift in New York, she begins dating Jen Chao-Pe, an engineering student. They do their best to block out the increasingly dire plight of their families back home and successfully establish a new American life: Marriage! A house in the suburbs! A number one son! By the time Gish is born, though, the news from China is proving inescapable; their marriage is foundering; and Agnes, confronted with a strong-willed, outspoken daughter distinctly reminiscent of herself, is repeating the refrain—“Bad bad girl! You don’t know how to talk!”—as she recapitulates the harshness of her own childhood.
Spanning continents, generations, and cultures, Bad Bad Girl is a novel only Gish Jen could have written: genre-bending, courageous, wise, and as immensely incisive as it is compassionate.
APPLE BOOKS REVIEW
Gish Jen’s candid autobiographical novel explores the fierce, complicated bond between a mother and daughter with poignancy and bite. Jen’s mother, Loo Shu-hsin—renamed Agnes by Catholic nuns in Shanghai—grew up hearing that she was “too smart for a girl.” Determined to prove her worth, she left China on the eve of revolution to pursue graduate studies in America. Marriage and children followed, but by the time Jen was old enough to remember, her mother was echoing the same scolding she’d grown up with: “Bad bad girl!” Jen weaves together her mother’s early years in Shanghai and her own childhood in the American suburbs. The way she balances cultural history with raw personal insight reveals the roots of her mother’s anger as well as the tenderness, volatility, and unspoken longing that defined their relationship. Bad Bad Girl is a powerful, bittersweet story of generational trauma, ambition, and the enduring ties between mothers and daughters.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
The astute and revelatory latest from Jen (The Resisters) recounts the author's tumultuous relationship with her Shanghai-born mother, Loo Shu-Hsin, and offers a fictionalized version of Loo's early life. Loo, born in 1925 to a wealthy Shanghai family, was met with disappointment by her mother, who wished for a son. Intellectually gifted, Loo convinces her parents to let her immigrate to a graduate program in Chicago in 1947 amid the Chinese civil war. She flounders in Chicago before moving to New York City, where she enrolls in Columbia University and meets future husband Jen Chao-Pei, a fluid mechanics engineer. The two forge a life together, settling first in Queens and finally Scarsdale, where Loo abandons her PhD studies in psychology for motherhood, planting the seeds of her anger, resentment, and depression. Second-born Lillian (the author's given name) lives in the shadow of her older brother, Reuben, whom Loo adores, while Loo incessantly berates Lillian as a "bad, bad girl" for asking too many questions. Jen cannily portrays the struggles facing Chinese immigrants (a neighbor points out that Loo's "soul is still in China"), as well as the family's repeated patterns, showing how Loo consistently invalidates her daughter's wit, curiosity, and intellect in the same way that she was invalidated as a young woman. Throughout, the author blends sharp-witted autofiction with powerful images, such as Loo's mother throwing her placenta in the Huangpu River where it floats away, prefiguring the sense of drifting that Loo would later experience. This is striking.
