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My Problem with Journalism

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In 2010, I profiled Yann Martel for Side Street’s December issue. The interview can be read its entirety in the Side Street Review’s December magazine, and recently a snippet of it was made available online on SideStreetReview.com. The snippet appearing online reads as follows:

I didn’t know very much about Yann Martel before speaking with him. In fact, from what I did know of him, I didn’t really like him. All I knew was that he wrote an award-winning bestseller and, after that, took a hiatus from writing during which he seemed to be keeping himself ever-present in the Canadian literary scene by writing Stephen Harper biweekly book reviews. The Harper project seemed to go on for ages with no response and, frankly, I felt like it was a project that was undertaken to ensure the man and his book remained present in the public eye, just to keep the royalties rolling.
I suppose you could say that if I thought of Martel at all, I thought of him with a negative—at best, indifferent—point of view.

With the distance of time and space between my Martel article and I, reading it again made me realize how harsh it sounds. Of course, it was partly written to sound that way. I know that each article is better if it tells the truth conversationally, accessibly, and with a hook. I strove for all of the above with my Martel article, but did not realize that it sounded so jealous and distrustful.

If you read the article in its entirety, you’ll see that my mind quickly changed after speaking with Martel. Unfortunately, that part isn’t available online.

I loved talking with Martel. My conversation with him inspired me even months afterwards. He rekindled my passion for writing and reminded me why writing is a valuable pursuit, relentless, and painful, and cruel as it sometimes is. And, more than his inspiration, I appreciated his kindness. Unlike other celebrities, he didn’t simply talk on and on about himself or recite tired and remembered lines, but he asked about me and tried to relate his stories to my life. That made a huge difference. It felt more like a conversation – a meeting of minds.

Perhaps Martel didn’t feel that way, and perhaps he doesn’t even remember me anymore, but it meant a lot to me at the time that an author of his stature could talk to me so patiently. And after all that, reading my cold introduction kind of broke my heart. I immediately regretted anything rude that I’d written. Even worse, as the nature of the business calls, my article was edited for length. To balance off my harsh beginning, I included a sugar sweet end. Fluff, I know, but I meant every word of it, and I wanted to include a conciliatory ending – a “sorry for the start” that was supposed to make up for any mean words I’d said. That ending was cut. It made for a tighter, better article, but, man, did I miss it.

I know I’ve gone on and on about Martel, but his profile reinforced my current trouble with journalism. Articles are written under pressure, for an audience. You’re assigned books and games and celebrities and you need to have an opinion (most preferably an attention-grabbing one) on all of it. You push all this out at a fast rate and once your words are in print, you can’t retract what you say. Even if you regret it later, ink is permanent.

Sometimes, when placing my opinion out there about the books, games, and people I meet, I forget the authority of the written word. It’s a failing that I have, and one that I need to overcome. Sometimes I feel like journalism is a match, and it helps me burn bridges. I love it and I hate it, so I’m hot and cold with it, writing voraciously in brief spurts, then keeping my silence and telling myself I won’t write again. I’m so grateful for the opportunity to write for magazines, but sometimes it worries me.

This has been a long rant, but I guess I just wanted to get the reflection out there. That, and I also wanted to say: Mr. Martel (if you’re reading this), thanks a lot for the chat. It meant a lot to me

Book Review: A Thread of Sky

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Check out my review of Deanna Fei’s A Thread of Sky on the SideStreet Review website. This review may also be found in the newest (June 2010) issue of the magazine.

Though my review of A Thread of Sky is already quite enthusiastic as it is, I’d just like to take this blog post space to state exactly how much I liked this book in a more colloquial way:

Out of the 33 books that I’ve read to date this year, Fei’s novel is one of my favorite novels of them all. It is beautifully written and, to me, it was deeply touching. I am not exactly sure how to describe the chord that it resonated within me. Perhaps I found her novel so relevant because it was able to do what I have been trying to do with my own writing: tell a tale from the position of a distinctly female, Asian American writer.

When someone states the above – “female, Asian American” – a series of stereotypes arise. In my opinion, the female Asian American occupies a certain space in accordance to gender and race. Despite how progressive our society is, the label of “female” writing still often conjures up ideas of books that are distinctly feminist or emotional or descriptive in a certain gendered way.  Furthermore, the “American” perspective is often overpowered by the word “Asian” that precedes it – a word that connotes exoticism and alternative culture.

As a result of the above, even I myself am hesitant to refer books as “female, Asian American literature” because the description comes with so much baggage. Because of the terms’ connotations, assumptions about books that fall into this category can easily be made and, as a result, such books may be easily overlooked or dismissed.

Because we live in such a hybridized society, however, I don’t believe that its fair to lump books into one “female” or “Asian” or even “Asian American” experience. My own experience of being “female Asian American” and of knowing others of “my type” lends itself to stories of variety and difference rather than the generic stereotypes that attend the label.

A Thread of Sky struck a chord with me so strongly because it was capable of portraying the story of multiple Asian American women that could not be described as strictly “female” or “Asian” or “American”. I fell in love with the way Fei reflectively portrayed the hybrid life of Asian American women – lives that were lived in the in-between that results from being oneself and yet also being a “model stereotype” for others.

Anyways, I’m not too sure if any of the above made sense, but I suppose all I can say is: Read Deanna Fei’s novel. It is awesome.

And read my review too. It is not as awesome, I think, because it fails to say much of what I truly felt the novel did, but I wrote it, so read it, too! : )