Inspired by coworkers, I'm revisiting juvenile lit from my childhood (and even though it's not May, I am Asian American 12 out of 12 months so every month is AAPI heritage month for me, I suppose).

I remembered the bones of this story: Robin and her grandmother are volunteered by a waiter to pretend to be a lonely cook's family because his own are assumed dead in China. Rereading 15 years later, I noticed things I overlooked when I first read this: for example, the distinction Hong Kong born Grandmother notes between her youth and cook Wolf's southern Chinese (Toisan) background, further highlighted when they go to a movie in Chinatown (Jackie Chan's The Young Master!) in Cantonese, but with Chinese subtitles so speakers of other dialects can follow along. Grandmother is in her 60s, which startles me because my parents are currently in theirs, but I'd be hard-pressed to describe either as elderly (though, Grandmother probably uses canes because of her bound feet). The taxi driver mentions being in the US for 58 years and coming over at age 8, which would've been in a tenuous time between the complete ban on immigration in 1924 and/or the repeal of Exclusion in 1943 (which then still limited immigration at 105 Chinese per year). Functionally, these harsh immigration laws delayed the arrival of women, creating bachelor societies in early Chinese America.

Laurence Yep books always resonate with me, probably because I am also a descendant of the Toisanese diaspora, and think often about the balance of being a hyphenated American and the struggles my ancestors went through so I could be here. Wolf sending back money and losing contact with his family during China's political upheavals in the twentieth century reminds me of my maternal side. Robin's mom argues, "When you married me, you also married my family- we're a package deal" to Robin's [Caucasian] dad, a sentiment expressed to me to be cognizant of in serious relationships.

The Cook's Family is a timely reread, as ICE raids for undocumented immigrants are ramping up the weekend I read this (July 13, 2019). In the third act, Wolf's real daughter shows up at the restaurant, an angry, loud foil to Robin's assumptions that an ideal Chinese daughter be quiet and acquiescent. The real Snow Flower is undocumented, desperately traveling in one of those packed containers to come to America and find her lost father and owing a great debt to snakeheads for it. The waiter reveals he didn't give them the full story because he didn't trust strangers who might accidentally talk to the wrong person and attract the attention of immigration officials, and Grandmother agrees, "If someone's here illegally, you shouldn't talk about it to anyone." In this, I also recognize a reticence on relatives' part to discuss how some of my ancestors came to America, even though all relevant parties are long dead. It's not like a corpse can be deported, but there's an instinctive shutdown or evasion of discussion, probably built up from habit.

My quibble is minor: Robin describes herself as brown haired and green eyed, a mixed race Chinese American. While lovely, the cover does not reflect this- the later book [b:Angelfish|1495474|Angelfish|Laurence Yep|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1184256963l/1495474._SY75_.jpg|1486810] has a more accurate depiction. Still, as a voracious adolescent reader, it was nice to see faces like mine on the covers of stuff I read, rather than having to imagine myself as the side character in someone else's story. As mentioned earlier, Yep's work strongly resonates with me because we have similar backgrounds, but I can't think of many other '90s authors who also filled that space (versus say, looking at teen historical fiction set in Tudor England and finding a half dozen authors). I'm envious of today's teens with the feast of #ownvoices YA lit available (which y'know, adults can still read!) and am SO GLAD that kids today have a variety of options to see themselves in. ( )