Scan barcode
a_novel_femme's review against another edition
3.0
the story itself intrigued me: a gay asian chef who works in the home of gertrude stein and alice b. toklas, definitely a take on modernity and modernism that was a refreshing change from the usual images and ideas offered on this time period, and these two women. the nuances of alienation are poignant, and the moments of tenderness are very, very tangible.
so why not a higher rating? as much as i wanted to love the writing style, the tone of this book, there were far too many portions that irritated me with what seemed to be an overwhelming sense of the authors own self-importance, in the vein of "look! look at this overwrought metaphor i am using to describe this scene! isnt it beautiful?!" nothing irritates me more than this, which i call the hawthorne problem. remember the scarlet letter? remember how hawthornes symbolism was so in-your-face that you wanted to punch him and say, "i get it! i get it! now stop breathing over my shoulder, dammit, and let me read the story!" there are traces of that, enough of it, in this novel, which impede the moments of real beauty and brilliance that truong is able to convey.
so why not a higher rating? as much as i wanted to love the writing style, the tone of this book, there were far too many portions that irritated me with what seemed to be an overwhelming sense of the authors own self-importance, in the vein of "look! look at this overwrought metaphor i am using to describe this scene! isnt it beautiful?!" nothing irritates me more than this, which i call the hawthorne problem. remember the scarlet letter? remember how hawthornes symbolism was so in-your-face that you wanted to punch him and say, "i get it! i get it! now stop breathing over my shoulder, dammit, and let me read the story!" there are traces of that, enough of it, in this novel, which impede the moments of real beauty and brilliance that truong is able to convey.
jwsg's review against another edition
3.0
The Book of Salt isn't normally the kind of book I'd pick up. Reading the blurb - that the Book of Salt is the story of Binh, the Vietnamese cook employed by Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas, and how he "observes their domestic entanglements while seeking his own place in the world" - made me fear that this would be another one of those cliched "Asian trying to find self in another country" tales. One of those tales that gains appeal by romanticizing and exoticizing the East with a Capital E. But I was intrigued when a friend of mine told me she loved this book and had devoured it in one sitting.
In a way, I was right. The Book of Salt pressed all the usual buttons, evoking the mysterious East with Binh's recollections of "sour sweat", rice, quinces. Sentences like: "I am an Indochinese laborer, generalized and indiscriminate, easily spotted and readily identifiable all the same. It is this curious mixture of careless disregard and notoriety that makes me long to take my body into a busy Saigon marketplace and lose it in the crush. There, I tell myself, I was just a man, anonymous, and, at a passing glance, a student, a gardener, a poet, a chef, a prince, a porter, a doctor, a scholar. But in Vietnam, I tell myself, I was above all just a man.
The Book of Salt does try to add a new spin to the identity tale. We learn that The Book of Salt isn't just about a young man trying to find himself in a foreign land. As we read on and piece together the various snippets of Binh's life in Vietnam that he chooses to reveal, we learn why Binh left home. We learn about Binh's trick to coping with emptiness, what he does to feel alive. And there are some lovely bits of prose in the book, some lovely metaphors, like when Binh meditates on the nature of love:
"Quinces are ripe, GetrudeStein, when they are the yellow of canary wings in midflight. They are ripe when their scent teases you with the snap of green apples and the perfumed embrace of cora roses. But even then quinces remain a fruit, hard and obstinate - useless, GertrudeStein, until they are simmered, coddled for hours above a low, steady flame. Add honey and water and watch their dry, bone-coloured flesh soak up the heat, coating itself in an opulent orange, not of the sunrises that you never see but of the insides of tree-ripened papayas, a color you can taste. To answer your question, GertrudeStein, love is not a bowl of quinces yellowing in a blue and white china bowl, seen but untouched"
It is these lovely bits of prose scattered about the book that kept me going. The Book of Salt was, on the whole, an entertaining enough read. But to call it magical, extraordinary and fascinating - as some of the reviews did - might be overreaching it a little.
In a way, I was right. The Book of Salt pressed all the usual buttons, evoking the mysterious East with Binh's recollections of "sour sweat", rice, quinces. Sentences like: "I am an Indochinese laborer, generalized and indiscriminate, easily spotted and readily identifiable all the same. It is this curious mixture of careless disregard and notoriety that makes me long to take my body into a busy Saigon marketplace and lose it in the crush. There, I tell myself, I was just a man, anonymous, and, at a passing glance, a student, a gardener, a poet, a chef, a prince, a porter, a doctor, a scholar. But in Vietnam, I tell myself, I was above all just a man.
The Book of Salt does try to add a new spin to the identity tale. We learn that The Book of Salt isn't just about a young man trying to find himself in a foreign land. As we read on and piece together the various snippets of Binh's life in Vietnam that he chooses to reveal, we learn why Binh left home. We learn about Binh's trick to coping with emptiness, what he does to feel alive. And there are some lovely bits of prose in the book, some lovely metaphors, like when Binh meditates on the nature of love:
"Quinces are ripe, GetrudeStein, when they are the yellow of canary wings in midflight. They are ripe when their scent teases you with the snap of green apples and the perfumed embrace of cora roses. But even then quinces remain a fruit, hard and obstinate - useless, GertrudeStein, until they are simmered, coddled for hours above a low, steady flame. Add honey and water and watch their dry, bone-coloured flesh soak up the heat, coating itself in an opulent orange, not of the sunrises that you never see but of the insides of tree-ripened papayas, a color you can taste. To answer your question, GertrudeStein, love is not a bowl of quinces yellowing in a blue and white china bowl, seen but untouched"
It is these lovely bits of prose scattered about the book that kept me going. The Book of Salt was, on the whole, an entertaining enough read. But to call it magical, extraordinary and fascinating - as some of the reviews did - might be overreaching it a little.
akeely's review against another edition
emotional
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
lunabbly's review against another edition
4.0
Umm this book!!! Gave me life!
I had never thought about writing about eating and taste until I read Monique Truong. The way she interweaves conflict with taste, taste of words, flavorful conflicts with regurgitation of feeling is amazing and so well-done (all puns intended). Although her writing is white-centric in a white fantasy land, which is curious to me. She does a basic job of critiquing the white gaze and whiteness, but it's not deep enough for me to rate this a 5.
As a fellow Vietnamese woman, I do sense a feeling of familiar identity with her writing and the way she describes taste that is quite delicious and difficult to shake off. I could shake off the pretend white fantasy land though.
I had never thought about writing about eating and taste until I read Monique Truong. The way she interweaves conflict with taste, taste of words, flavorful conflicts with regurgitation of feeling is amazing and so well-done (all puns intended). Although her writing is white-centric in a white fantasy land, which is curious to me. She does a basic job of critiquing the white gaze and whiteness, but it's not deep enough for me to rate this a 5.
As a fellow Vietnamese woman, I do sense a feeling of familiar identity with her writing and the way she describes taste that is quite delicious and difficult to shake off. I could shake off the pretend white fantasy land though.
farzi_q_pickle's review against another edition
4.0
I can’t say I liked this book… but I think it was good and needs to be out there in the world to tell this particular story. I thought it was an interesting angle to take. I did have to look up some stuff to even understand things like who the mystery man was supposed to be… A lot of trauma, saves, and a very slow book but more to me in the category of great literature even if it’s not an easy read. I think the only thing I would have done differently is not read it as my first book when I was wandering Paris as it initially kept putting me to sleep with my jetlag and because it’s not meant to be a page-turner! Representation matters and I’m glad a story with a character with all his struggles has a choice during this time and place in history. It was also really beautifully written in terms of the language and descriptions though I know that won’t be to everyone’s liking.
velvetcelestial's review against another edition
adventurous
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
4.75
anna_britt's review against another edition
3.0
Vague and confusing timeline with literally no structure. Poetic but lacking substance.
johoha93's review against another edition
emotional
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
5.0
alundeberg's review against another edition
3.0
I was pretty stoked when while researching novels by Vietnamese authors that I came across Monique Truong's The Book of Salt, a novel set in Paris with a Vietnamese narrator who is Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas's cook. Vietnam? Paris? Stein? 1930's? Absolutely, yes please.
That said, I really wanted to like this book. Identity, marginalization, and societal hypocrisy are the dominant themes, and Truong includes just about every iteration of them and it feels heavy-handed. The story follows Binh, a gay man who is a Vietnamese immigrant in Paris who works as a cook. In Vietnam, he doesn't fit in in Vietnam, despite the help of his wiser older brother who helps him get a job with the French Governor-General in Saigon. Working for the imperialist power and being a gay man, he is a second-class citizen in his own country and home. For reasons one may imagine, he has to leave and makes his way to Paris. There he meets Stein, whose own story mirrors his own: an ex-pat gay woman with an older brother and who did not fit in at home. Stein has the benefit of being an American, and this just further shows how Binh is marginalized as she never attempts to learn how to say his name correctly. Just in case the reader doesn't understand the marginalization in society, Binh's lover in Paris is African-American who passes as white. There are other examples, but that would be spoiling the book to give them. It was fun at first to piece together how Truong develops the themes, but then it got tiring: I GET IT.
There is also a lot of evocative language used, but after awhile, I lost track of what it was supposed to evoke. It felt pseudo-philosophical, trying to make greater points about life, but not saying much of anything. There were passages like this frequently and they became tiresome. It is an interesting premise, but the execution was not strong.
That said, I really wanted to like this book. Identity, marginalization, and societal hypocrisy are the dominant themes, and Truong includes just about every iteration of them and it feels heavy-handed. The story follows Binh, a gay man who is a Vietnamese immigrant in Paris who works as a cook. In Vietnam, he doesn't fit in in Vietnam, despite the help of his wiser older brother who helps him get a job with the French Governor-General in Saigon. Working for the imperialist power and being a gay man, he is a second-class citizen in his own country and home. For reasons one may imagine, he has to leave and makes his way to Paris. There he meets Stein, whose own story mirrors his own: an ex-pat gay woman with an older brother and who did not fit in at home. Stein has the benefit of being an American, and this just further shows how Binh is marginalized as she never attempts to learn how to say his name correctly. Just in case the reader doesn't understand the marginalization in society, Binh's lover in Paris is African-American who passes as white. There are other examples, but that would be spoiling the book to give them. It was fun at first to piece together how Truong develops the themes, but then it got tiring: I GET IT.
There is also a lot of evocative language used, but after awhile, I lost track of what it was supposed to evoke. It felt pseudo-philosophical, trying to make greater points about life, but not saying much of anything. There were passages like this frequently and they became tiresome. It is an interesting premise, but the execution was not strong.