Yang Shuang-zi’s “Taiwan Travelogue,” translated by Lin King, follows Aoyama Chizuko, a Japanese writer, who reflects on her government-sponsored 1938 Taiwan trip. She takes readers back to how she got there, first after accepting Taichu (Taichung) City’s offer to be part of a cultural exchange consisting of travel lecturers on a movie adaptation of her novel, freeing her from needing to write promotional literature for the empire.
Aoyama brings to Taiwan what her aunt calls “a gluttonous hunger,” as she’s eager to try authentic, local Taiwanese cuisine. This enthusiasm is met with questioning faces from the locals. What did not occur to Aoyama was the language barrier on the island. On the first day, she struggles to understand a local vendor, but that is when the woman beside her chuckles and offers to translate.
This short, fated encounter would introduce Aoyama to Ong Tshian-hoh (in Taiwanese) or O-Chizuru (in Japanese), who would teach her how to eat kue-tsi (roasted seeds) and show her the rest of Taiwan in ways other Japanese residents have not seen before, making it one of the most memorable years of her life.
Ong accompanies Aoyama on her journey, serving as both her translator and her guide to local food. Throughout the novel, food plays a major role in explaining the history and relationship between Japan and Taiwan. Regardless of being a work of translation, King takes care to keep the integrity of each dish’s original name along with its variations based on the languages on the island, the regions, and the people. The variety of food reminds readers of Taiwanese cuisine’s unique style while also highlighting its influences. Thanks to Ong’s character, both King’s translation and the novel’s detailed explanation of dishes do not feel too saturated because Ong’s job is to translate; readers digest these explanations as part of the story rather than as extraneous information.
Although Aoyama claims she will not push the empire’s expansionist rhetoric of Taiwan through her writing, her gluttony reflects the empire’s desire to siphon off and consume the island’s resources. The parallel deepens as she starts traveling using the island’s train system, which also contributes to the exportation of the island’s fruits, sugar, and other goods. When Aoyama refers to Ong as Chi-Chan, it is an attempt to bridge the formality between the two in hopes of becoming friends. Upon later reflection on the novel, the moment that gave existence to this nickname is seemingly underlined by a sense of superiority from Aoyama, that even she herself does not notice at first.
Beyond illuminating Taiwan’s colonial history, food also acts as the fuel of the sapphic tension between the two women. Though never confessional, their mealtimes tug at this tension. Their chopsticks dance around each other on a shared plate, exchanging their inner selves through dialogue between bites. However, a noticeable power dynamic and politics are present at the dining table, too. Aoyama is always eating more because Ong is responsible for feeding her, and what’s striking is the power Ong holds in these moments.
It is not just the charm of her dimples, or the reveal of her “ivory teeth” upon cracking kue-tsi (roasted seeds) for Aoyama, but also her ability to translate. Ong is Aoyama’s key to entering Taiwan as a hungry writer beyond what was already provided by the government-sponsored trip. In fact, Aoyama possesses almost no control over Ong, who has the liberty to leave this job and relationship, removing Aoyama’s access to Taiwan’s locality.
Ong’s character is in many ways the island itself. She must not only provide, but also understand those she serves well enough to satisfy their want — to be able to speak the language required by the empire while it grants Aoyama the ability to be ignorant in sweet bliss.
Their relationship combined with the novel as a whole, also implores readers to think about the historical relationship of the two countries. Under Japan’s strict colonial rule, Taiwan underwent severe cultural suppression. What came out of this relationship were also technological and social improvements that allowed Taiwan to be what it is now. These improvements served the people from Japan more than the native residents. Yet, these memories of the complicated colonial relationship have bred a nostalgic sentiment among the present residents toward their memory of Taiwanese history and their identity.
I am not skilled enough in either Japanese or Chinese to read the prior versions of “Taiwan Travelogue.” Hence, I find the importance of the art of translation to this novel fascinating. On the most inner level, language is the foundation of Ong’s power in the story. But even beyond the world of the book, the same can be said about Lin King’s ability to offer this story to the English-speaking world through her translation.
From Chinese to English, two languages that share no common roots, the task requires edits, such as the removal of passages. A Reddit thread pointed out to me that Lin King’s English translation is missing a third of the Chinese preface that explores colonial literature. At the same time, online posts also pointed out how King’s translation added more weight to Yang’s manga-writing voice, creating a more historical tone. These are but petals of a blooming interest in the book around the world. With the maximalist approach King said she took, translation quite literally transported a story and history across oceans for readers to enjoy and allow themselves to be transported across time.
What is quite fun is that King isn’t the only translator at work. Yang Shuang-zi, the author, casts herself as one too. The novel utilizes a “found manuscript” structure. Yang attempts to translate the late Aoyama’s novel, “Taiwan Travelogue,” which is a fictionalized account of the actual Taiwan travelogue produced by Aoyama.
Yang writes in an additional character, Hoyoshi Sagako, who delivers a faux-historical account of how the travelogue came to be. According to Sagako, Aoyama published her novel fifteen years after her trip to Taiwan, focusing on her relationship with Ong, and even labelling her piece as fiction. Though in 1970, her adopted daughter inserted the final chapter of her mother’s manuscript for the Japanese reprint, leading readers to wonder what parts of the story we can accept as truth. With this framing, Yang adds more layers of translation and miscommunication to the story. I was very moved to sadness and wowed at the end, when reading the letters from each edition’s translator, who are also characters of the story.
My interest in “Taiwan Travelogue” was piqued by a campus talk last Spring where Lin King spoke about the “challenges and promises” of translation. She mentioned “Taiwan Travelogue” as an example, and I remember a student near me exclaiming how awesome it was that she was there! Having taken the former Visiting Assistant Professor of Modern Languages & Literature Professor Claire Li’s class on Contemporary Chinese and Sinophone Fiction, I attended the talk because of our class discussions on Taiwan.
That summer, I picked up the book from McCabe Library following its win of the International Booker Prize. After one click on TriPod, one email notification, and a short exchange of hellos and thank yous at the front desk, the book was mine! For me, reading “Taiwan Travelogue” sparked a deeper interest in Chinese literature and English translations that allow me the privilege of enjoying them. With this interest, I plan to become fluent so I can read more Chinese literature. That aside, I highly encourage checking out “Taiwan Travelogue,” as I will be returning the copy I borrowed by the time this article comes out.
It is a quick and delicious read, but make sure you read attentively. On the first read, you can expect to perceive the love for food and a more-than-friends relationship. Upon a second read, history unravels, possibly inspiring you to dive deeper. Savor all of it: first the book, and then the meals you have with those you love. Let your words be louder than the utensils, so your feelings translate sooner rather than later. It sounds cheesy, but it is indeed quite sweet.
