Book Review: Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng

Yesterday I was up till 3am reading this contemporary fiction. This is surprising because usually my off-switch is activated at 11pm, and I’d drift into unconsciousness by 12. I’m not sure if it’s a compelling novel, or if my coffee was too strong that morning – but anyway, I finally finished it today morning.

I have contradictory feelings on this one, summed up by my description of it as a family drama through and through. It engrosses you, but on a more basal than intellectual manner. It is akin to watching a Korean soap. You can’t stop because it spurs on feelings of injustice and morbid fascination we all face towards another family’s misfortune; but it so blatantly flouts literary rules and common sense, it’s hard to tout it as a work of genius.

Most glaringly, it fully exercises the Idiot Plot trope, which in – oh idk – EVERY SINGLE ASIAN DRAMA THERE IS. Seriously, each family member basically lived out extreme misery, inflicted upon one another, just because no one fucking tells each other anything. It’s difficult to sympathize with the characters when they could’ve prevented their predicament by simply saying, “I want to pursue a medical degree, can we find a way to do this?” instead of backing out of your children and husband’s lives soundlessly to re-enter school. I mean. Just.

The one redeeming hook of this novel, and which makes it a family drama at its very core, is the uninhibited use of pathos. Idiot Plot though it is, the family is driven straight into the cesspit of guilt and anger and loneliness – a wreck you cannot turn away from. It is also decently written, with all the tones of Jodi Picoult and assorted mainstream contemporary. Because I’m not a hipster, mainstream does not take on a negative connotation: it’s everything pretty and distilled, neat and sufficiently arousing to the very same emotions that compel housewives to soap operas.

It’s not that I’m a snob, but after sinking into the same contemporary narratives, I’m craving a little post-modern. Not in obnoxious amounts, but just something more offbeat and able to slice through thick indulgent pathos.

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