Review: I Love Yous Are for White People
“Other than the Street Ratz, most of the Vietnamese kids I know are busy distancing themselves from our culture. Most of the Ratz love bring Vietnamese but hate their families. I’m trying desperately to love both.”
- from I Love Yous Are for White People by Lac Su
When I heard the title of this book I had to read it. I didn’t know if it was a sociology textbook or a collection of poetry or a science-fiction novel, but I knew I wanted to read it as soon as I could find a copy. It’s something that many children of Asian immigrants and refugees instinctively know; the only time people say “I love you” to their family is when they’re on TV.
It has always struck me as very white – specifically middle-class white American – to tell your family members “I love you” because everyone uses those words all the time, but only mean it a fraction of the times they say it. In the real world, using that phrase – especially with your parents – carries little weight compared to actually proving it through your actions.
Those actions, however, can feel so disjointed. Don’t talk back to your parents, your boss, or your teacher. Do talk back to someone who disrespects you or insults your family. Know you’re always right, except when your parents tell you you’re wrong – that means you’re wrong, even if you’re right. Americans will always judge you, it’s not worth worrying about being embarrassed in front of them. Your family will never judge you, unless you do something that warrants being judged.
It would be too easy to say I Love Yous Are for White People is a memoir of a boy who grows up torn between two cultures and blah blah blah. That’s how you can sell the book to white people. A more honest assessment is that it’s a memoir of all of us – whether or not we escaped from Vietnam as toddlers, were molested by an older cousin, or ran with an Asian gang (the aforementioned Street Ratz) – because life is life, and for us in Asian immigrant families, displacement and separation are part of our vocabulary before we know how to speak.
The structure of the book reminds me of another of my favorite memoirs: The Gangster We Are All Looking For by Le Thi Diem Thuy, because the author’s life thus far is distilled down to a few broad strokes – and not the monumental ones we expect, like the births of his siblings and children, or the diagnoses of his father’s illness, or his wedding day, but smaller ones like the day his two recently-arrived uncles catch geese in the public park to bring home and eat with all their friends. It seems Lac (I’m gonna use his first name when referring to him because I kinda feel like I know him) did a good job learning from one of those uncles later at the dinner table, that a story is meaningless if it doesn’t keep people’s attention.
The writing, however, is very different from Thuy’s narrative poetry; Lac’s writing voice could not be more straight-forward. He uses present-tense voice throughout, placing the reader by his side all the while. When teenager Lac comes to a realization about his father, it’s not done in retrospect, it’s done as we turn each page.
But the most important facet of this book that I should mention is the character of his father, who loves his family so fiercely that he alienates them. The person who recommended this book to me is not Asian, and said the father comes across as a monster. But when reading the book, I never felt anything but his overwhelming humanity – how he couldn’t bear mistakes from his children because he had made so many himself. And his enraged response to the first time his son says “I love you” made me laugh when I assume a lot of non-Asians would shake their heads in pity or horror.
On a few other notes, the book cover design is beautiful. The book is an incredibly fast read, and while it’s clear Lac is not primarily a writer before anything else, is prose is easy and revelatory, and the language he uses is not difficult, but still literary.
Most autobiographies aim to teach us something about history or their authors, but I Love Yous Are for White People helps us have private conversations with ourselves.
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[...] I recently devoured Lac Su’s memoir I Love Yous Are for White People. And I kinda reviewed it at BPRLive. [...]
This reminds me of the time when my dad was away on a business trip and was just coming home for the holidays. It was me, my mother and I sitting at the dinner table talking. He was about to come home.
I told my sister and my mom, “Okay, when he comes home, I’m going to give him a kiss on his cheek.” That may seem weird that this whole act would need a discussion at all, but most Chinese will know that physical displays of affection of that nature between father and son or vice versa simply does not happen. So talking about it isn’t weird.
And when he did come home and I did give him that kiss on his cheek, guess what his response was?
Okay, he wasn’t enraged. Instead, his response was “Hey Eugene, what’s going on? [in mandarin].” I guess that’s not too bad from a Western perspective.
Eugene, your story is funny! Especially how he thinks there is something wrong just because you kissed him.
Hm, I think in the Asian culture, it feels almost “weird” or odd to say I love you when you leave them to go somewhere. Growing up, I don’t think I ever really said I loved my mom because I think my actions would speak louder than that. It’s more powerful to show them and to do things that will signify your love/appreciation for them rather than throwing out empty words.
My two cents.
Thanks Giles for the review, and especially for this line, “Most autobiographies aim to teach us something about history or their authors, but I Love Yous Are for White People helps us have private conversations with ourselves.”
Best,
-Lac Su
author of I LOVE YOUS ARE FOR WHITE PEOPLE