A review by symphonian
The Thousand Crimes of Ming Tsu by Tom Lin

adventurous challenging dark funny hopeful sad tense medium-paced
  • Plot- or character-driven? A mix
  • Strong character development? Yes
  • Loveable characters? Yes
  • Diverse cast of characters? Yes
  • Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated

4.0

As someone who doesn’t often reach for the western genre, The Thousand Crimes of Ming Tsu stands as one of those instances where choosing adventure was worth it. I loved it, in short. Tom Lin writes with a voice that emulates the mid 19th century in such a straightforward, yet mystic cadence that it was difficult not to be consumed by the story at the speed of a quick draw. The reading goes quick but purposeful; the chapters are short, but packed with necessary moments of characterization, growth, progress on Ming’s path to rescue his wife and get revenge on the men who ruined his life, and rumination. To add, Lin purposefully uses language from the era he writes in–calling Native Americans “Indians”, “Californie” instead of California–and this choice brings in that western feel. In the dialogue, Lin gives a same but different dialect to each character that embodies the era as well. Also, to listen to Feodor Chin as he reads Ming Tsu is to be brought to the campfire and hear the complicated, yet intriguing story of a Chinese hitman and his grueling journey. 

It may seem negative to invoke the term camp here, but I mean it in the delighted sense of the word. Camp is what adds to the pleasure of reading this novel. There’s a circus show of traveling miracles who join Ming on his expedition, there’s shootouts, a prophet, romance, outlaws, dangerous pathways, horses. Camp in this novel with a person of color at the lead is claiming the escapism POC are often denied when it comes to traditionally white–and sometimes problematic–genres. And it’s just fun. What we would consider overdone in other novels of the same genre work for Ming Tsu because of Lin’s skill when it comes to balancing camp and a good story that carries deeper meanings and conversations in its pack. 

To speak of themes, the most apparent theme is revenge. As readers, we’re asked to think about our morality as we root for Ming to see his mission through. We’re made to question whether or not reaching that dark goal is healing or more painful than the reason that fueled its plan. Brewing within that greater theme of revenge are other, more poignant themes that ask us to look inward. Lin asks his readers to think about life and death. He weaves a narrative that lures readers into examining the power of memories and the consequences of remembering and forgetting. Lin wants us to engage and engage deeply with our views on these things as the characters do within the story. Is it our memories of what was and who we were that we cling to during our reflections? What do we do with memories we want to forget but the body remembers? Do we hold fast to our pain or release it to move on? Is revenge really worth it in the end? These questions and more stew in the mind as we travel alongside Ming and witness how morality and mortality wrap around each other in this tale of a man whose memories, good and bad, plague his steps. We want to root for Ming. We want Ming to see his plan through. We want Ming to heal, and we want that healing to be fruitful, even if, in the end, it’s founded on melancholy. 
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