This has been lying around in my room for like, I don't even know how long. A long time. I was put off because somebody I know talked about an author called 'Xinran' with a smugness that made me avoid reading it lest it be on their boringly sycophantic recommendation. Like Xinran was THE authority on China and, by proxy, this person I know became THE authority, too. Stuff like this is annoying - don't pretend it's not.
Anyway, when I finally got down to it I couldn't put this book down. I can't fault it. It's Xinran's first novel - her previous output being; a non-fiction account of the plights of women in Mao-era China; a true story of a woman whose husband was sent along with the army to help 'unify' Tibet with China; and a collection of Xinran's own Guardian articles - and, as such, it's even better.
Of course there are classic country-city tropes like the inevitable non-understanding of urban vocabulary, the crowds of people, computers, mannequins, mobile phones, etc. etc. etc.. It's done with gentle humour, and referred to throughout, even as the girls become more used to their surroundings, more confident, meeting a crew of friendlies along the way who are as varied as you'd expect within a city. I have to admit, halfway through I did wonder - still thinking that these girls actually did come from the same family, and that all of this was a largely non-fictional affair - "How does Xinran know all this?" and "How long did she interview these women for?!". Basically, there's a lot of detail, making for a colourful, tasty read.
And it flows so well because largely it is in fact fictional. Xinran was inspired by stories of 'chopstick girls' who became migrant workers, going to better themselves and pursue careers in the city (mainly to send money back to their poverty stricken families in the countryside, who are referred to by one character at one point as 'five hundred years' behind urban China); she interviewed some, three of whom became the basis of and inspiration for the three protagonists of Miss Chopsticks. The fictional filling of this novel is sandwiched between two very non-fiction slices of bread. Filling is mostly always better than bread, but in this instance - as interesting as it was finding out the inspiration for the book - the filling might have been better on its own. You're brought hurtling back to Earth as Xinran takes you through the tail-end of the book, a stark epilogue that follows a 'where are they now?' format, but ends up highlighting the crushing anonymity and perhaps insignificance of China's migrant workers. I don't exactly want to stay ignorant, but (for me at least) this kind of thing is the stuff you want to find out after you've read the book, on the internet, through interviews - NOT literally after the story ends. Immersion breaks, the magic of the novel dissipates in real-world realism, a sombre end. Too real?
Whether that's a bad thing is up for debate - it can easily be treated as an 'attachment' to the main body of the novel, the 'filling', itself, in which case, well, it's fine. It's difficult to read anything about China in the 20th Century without being at least marginally sad, or upset, at the proceedings, so for Xinran to break the buoyant outlook by returning the present-day story of the women who inspired the story is normal. In any case, it's an addictive item, something that you will pick up, mentally inhale, then put down. All with a heightened sense of what was the score in China only 20 years ago and what probably is the score now, in some places. Learning, especially with this subject, leads to more learning.
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