Conference...an academic's version of vacation

So tomorrow I'm getting on an American Airlines flight *hopefully* and leaving for a conference. So this means that I may not be blogging on a regular basis (although I'm sure this conference will provide plenty of fodder for this blog, especially since I'll be immersed in all things Asian American since this is the big "A" conference for me--A as in #1, A as in Asian, A as in ... America?)

Anyway, in honor of the fact that I will soon be immersed in a world of jargon and a sea of dark haired people...

[OK, let me be really frank: I've already talked about feeling tired, sometimes, exhausted, sometimes, when I recognize that I'm the "only one" in a room -- which happened AGAIN when I went to a Southern U. meeting of about 50 faculty/staff/students from around the university and I was the ONLY Asian face in this "important meeting" (sigh). So one of the things I'm looking forward to by going to this conference is that I will NOT be the only one: not the only one working on Asian American issues, not the only one interested in issues of social justice related to Asian American populations, not the only one who has read the latest journal article on Asian American literature, and not the only Asian American person in the conference hotel, although I also want to note that there are many fine academics who are NOT Asian American--like Professor X who gave the wonderful Japanese American Internment talk. So for any of you more conservative readers out there, I don't even want to HEAR you tell me that this is a segregationist/racist conference. Personally, it's a place I get to re-charge once a year--to be with folk I share a shorthand with--and quite frankly I really need it, because damn it, I get tired of the face staring back at me in the mirror being the only Asian face I see most days.]

Rant over.

What was I saying?

Oh yeah. In honor of entering into the land of academic jargon, I thought I would actually write this post dedicated to Asian American literature (a topic near and dear to my heart), specifically picking up a comment thread from the discussion I started on Ha Jin's novel A Free Life about Asian Immigrants becoming Asian Americans.

One of the commenters expressed a disdain for Jin's latest novel--feeling like it rehearsed worn out themes already expressed in the canon of Asian American literature. I don't know that I entirely agree with this statement, but I understand where the comment is coming from. Because Asian American literature is so often associated with "THE IMMIGRANT EXPERIENCE," as if those are the ONLY types of experiences that Asian Americans are having or are capable of relating, or, perhaps more accurately, are getting publishing contracts. In other words, there seems to be a certain "vogue" for Asian American novels that depict a type of "immigrant" experience.

Case in point: This past Sunday's New York Times book review had an ad for a book I've plugged in the right sidebar of this blog (under "Jennifer's Current Book Recommendations"), Free Food for Millionaires, by Min Jin Lee.

And in the ad, there is a quote from a reviewer (who is unnamed) that reads:

"Not since Jhumpa Lahiri's The Namesake has an author so exquisitely evoked what it's like to be an immigrant..."

Now, I have to tell you--this is NOT what I think about when I think about this novel. Because the main character, Casey, who we follow for 800 pages, is a first-generation American born Korean American woman, whose life follows the plot of a sprawling Russian or English novel. I did not see resonances with The Namesake, and can only conclude that this reviewer wanted to compare two Asian American immigrant experiences together (I mean, why not compare it to Nicole Krause's The History of Love, which also deals with multiple immigrant experiences (Russia, Poland, England, Latin America), or Jeffrey Eugenides' Middlesex, which talks about the Greek American immigrant experience? Must Asian immigrants always be compared against one another?)

It would seem that the only way you can "sell" an Asian American book is to draw upon the typical tropes of "Asian-as-foreigner" which means "Asian-as-immigrant," which brings me full circle back to my point in the April 12 post: when does an immigrant actually become a citizen? When does an Asian immigrant, in particular, become American? And when will Asian American writers be free to write whatever kinds of stories they want to write about, with whatever cast of characters they want to choose to write about--without invoking the typical tropes of immigration or generational or cultural conflict?

The American Dream

For the last few days I've been engrossed in a novel by Min Jin Lee, Free Food for Millionaires (Warner Books, 2007). The novel isn't for the faint of heart--at least in terms of length, for it clocks in at 562 pages. And while it's probably a stretch to call it "epic" (the last novel I read that I truly felt was epic was Vikram Seth's A Suitable Boy which was nearly three times the length of Lee's and I was so taken by it that I was staying up until 3am to finish (this while I was in grad school) because I didn't want to do any of my other reading until I completed it--it doesn't disappoint) it does remind me of a rambling Russian or Victorian novel, something along the lines of Anna Karenina (Tolstoy), Nicholas Nickelby (Dickens), Far from the Madding Crowd (Hardy). It focuses on Casey Han, 1.5 generation Korean American Princeton grad, a girl who grew up in a 2 bedroom apartment in Queens, whose parents manage a dry cleaning business in Manhattan, and who is struggling to find her place in the world. But the novel also traces other families, boyfriends, girlfriends, friends, and acquaintances through omniscient narration. It actually reminds me, most keenly, of Tolstoy.

Which is why it was odd to read that one reviewer described the plot as one in which Korean immigrant families pursue the "American dream."

What is the American Dream? This continues the discussion of class from the previous post, because it seems as if the American Dream is about upward mobility. About achieving more than the previous generations--more education, more wealth, more access to leisure time, more material goods. The American Dream is a 3 bedroom house in the suburbs with a 2 car garage and a nuclear family and a dog and holidays at the seashore or mountains and college savings accounts. Or is this simply one middle-class version? Perhaps it's having more than where you came from before--which is especially true in terms of certain immigrants. Bigger living spaces. More job opportunities. A wide selection of cereal in supermarkets. Or just supermarkets versus markets. Or perhaps just not worrying about basic survival and safety (I think this is especially true for people who are war refugees).

But if the American Dream is about upward mobility, what happens when you are at that pinnacle--when you have the house in the suburb are your children supposed to also have a country home, and if you own two homes, then is the following generation supposed to become millionaires? And if you are a millionaire, must your progeny try to top that as well? When does it end? When is enough, enough?

There is a dark side to The American Dream and to class issues in America--and although class isn't always tied to race, anyone who examines the history of how America came to become such a rich nation and a superpower must contend with the legacy of free and cheap labor that came at the cost of dark skinned bodies (African slavery, Chinese coolie labor, and currently exploited Mexican farm workers).