Showing posts with label lonely_planet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lonely_planet. Show all posts

Sunday, January 24, 2021

Book Review: Spinning Karma



Sit back and brainstorm: off the top of your head, how many comedy novels about Taiwan or set in Taiwan can you think of, which are available in English? 


Until recently, for me the answer was ‘none’. Ghost Month has its amusing moments, but it’s more of a mystery thriller. Some travel writing and memoirs have fun anecdotes, but none is a proper comedy in the style of, say, Tom Robbins. Local literature in English translation can sometimes have droll moments, but Taiwanese writing tends overall to lean more into garden-path reflections than straight-up hijinx. 


Of that number (zero), how many of those novels are Buddhist comedies?


Well, zero times any number...


Enter Spinning Karma. Written Joshua Samuel Brown, best known for his work on the Lonely Planet guides and certified Foreigner Who Has Spent A Long Time In Taiwan, this light and lovely but also thoughtfully-written comedy is exactly the right choice if you want a distraction from...well *gestures around vaguely* you know. This. 


Quick disclosure: this review isn’t sponsored — I’m writing it because I feel like it. But, Joshua is a good friend.


The plot of Spinning Karma does an excellent job of, well, whirling around and then spinning back on itself. It starts with the story of “Rinpoche Schwartz”, a guy whose Staten Island accent I can straight-up hear through the page but who has somehow managed to become the head of a semi-legitimate Buddhist organization that originated with a disgraced ‘70s sex cult (don’t ask; just read.) It’s attracted a few true believers but has otherwise faded into obscurity since losing the sex-cult stuff and getting more into the Buddhism — some of it seemingly real, some of it explicitly admitted by our narrator to be pure bullshit. 


From there, a series of events takes our blue-collar Buddhist master to Taiwan, where yet another series of events give Rinpoche Schwartz a half-baked idea to get more followers. Despite his best (okay, not his best) efforts to avoid an international incident, it...works. It’s never quite clear to what extent Schwartz fully aware of what he’s doing and to what extent he’s just propelled by a cluster of subconscious impulses that he just sort of gives into, one after the other. This is what makes him an interesting protagonist: is he a wholly cognizant scheister, a two-bit con man in a track suit, or is he a well-meaning doof being strung along by his own karma? It’s impossible to say. 


From here, all I’ll tell you is to read on for the craziness to unfold. Don’t miss a few little neatly-wrapped gifts that Brown has left scattered in the text: not just the old-school Monty Python reference and the droll reaction to it by a well-meaning think tank liberal type, but those in the know should take note of what Schwartz’s daughter-in-law says about their cat. 


In the end, as the title implies, the karma you spin out does tend to come back around to get you...just not always in the next lifetime, and certainly not in the ways you expect. The story ends with echoes, or perhaps mirror images, of how it began, which is probably from some sort of Buddhist parable that I know nothing about. 


What I found most interesting about Spinning Karma was the way that it holds everyone accountable and doesn’t tiptoe around clear wrongdoing. And yet, Brown humanizes each character, while not pretending that, say, China is a wonderful country of openness and tolerance, or that the mainstream media is a whirling cesspool spinning its own narratives that shape how we, an uncritically consuming public, see the world. Without diving into both-sidesism, Brown points out that even characters with the best of intentions can sometimes do things that have consequences they haven’t really thought through. This is especially true of every media personality. Of all of them, I most appreciate the cameo by Taiwan’s famous Next Animation news cartoons, which informs the design of the cover art. 


The novel also hints at a deeper truth: religion is what you get out of it. If you’re a huckster who knows what he’s dealing is an ultimately meaningless spiritual mash-up, then that’s what you’ll deliver, and that’s all it will be to you. (That’s pretty much all religion has ever been to me, to be honest, and that probably won’t change.) But if you get something from it and deepen your understanding of yourself through spiritual practice, and how you move in the world, that in itself gives it meaning. What such a person deals out may have the power to be more impactful, all because of how it emanates from them. 


Or as one of my favorite — and quite old — songs goes: 


Only on a true return could you find that you never left 

(What’s missing?)

Counting on an unpredictable tide for deliverance

(It’s right in front of you)

Swallow every verse and rhyme just to find

That the secret’s to embrace yourself.


Or something. I guess. 


Don’t take from this that Spinning Karma is War and Peace. At it’s heart it’s exactly what it aims to be: a light, fun Buddhist comedy set mostly in Taiwan, that is also an excellent escapist novel for a pleasant evening with your favorite drink. 


If I have any criticism at all, it’s that the text implies that Schwartz wanders from Ximen to Tianmu on foot (only Tianmu is named but Ximen certainly features), which any Taipei resident will know is impossible. That’s OK though, perhaps we just skip the boring part where he takes the MRT. Oh yes, and a government official grabs his coat to go out...in Taipei in June. 


If that’s all I have to say against the novel, it must be quite a fun read indeed. My verdict: buy it! Pour a glass of wine and dig in. 

Monday, October 22, 2018

You don't adopt Taiwan, Taiwan adopts you: a book review of Formosa Moon

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I used to believe that I’d adopted Taiwan, but the truth is, Taiwan adopted me, taking me in when I was in my early twenties and giving me a series of increasingly interesting reasons to stick around....Six months ago, I brought the love of my life to Taiwan. The idea was ostensibly to convince her to love Taiwan much in the way that I did. In this I believe I’ve met with some success.

- Joshua Samuel Brown, Formosa Moon 
(by Joshua Samuel Brown and Stephanie Huffman, ThingsAsian Press, 2018 - buy it here - and if you're in Taipei, there's a launch party this weekend)


I've heard people say that the best travel writing to read is about places you've never been: places foreign and "exotic" (how I hate that word) that you know next to nothing about, but come to understand in some small way through a guided journey by the author. If I'd ever quite bought into that, Formosa Moon cured me of it, reminding me that there is an earthier satisfaction in reading other peoples' experiences in places you know well.

Although none of the places mentioned in Formosa Moon were new to me (well, some of the hotels and restaurants mentioned were, such as the Dive Cube hotel), there's a certain beauty in reading about a place you're so familiar with that you can smell the air, see the details of the parks and unkempt sidewalks, picture the mountains, know intimately what kind of trees are growing all around and what it's like to live your life in a series of tiled buildings.

A section of the book takes place at Sun Moon Lake. Been there, didn't love it. Another one describes National Chengchi University. My sister studied there for a year. The Dome of Light? I was there two weeks ago. Tainan? I go every time I get the chance. Jiaoxi? Several visits, soaked in the public hot spring too. Huwei? I'm one of the few foreigners who went to Yunlin for fun over a Dragon Boat weekend just to see what it was like.

But there's something deeper about Formosa Moon that I just get. I think pretty much everyone who's made a life here - that is to say, many if not most of my closest friends at this point - understand as well. Taiwan is like a cat: you don't adopt a cat. A cat adopts you.

You might come here thinking you're going to just "go abroad for a few years" and do that privileged First World thing by teaching English to fund your time in Asia (you're probably not an actual English teacher). You might stay for 1, 2, 3 years: most of the cram school crowd seems to turn over in roughly those increments. Some of you won't get it: the traffic - there are traffic laws, I swear - the pollution, the ugly buildings (you will almost certainly live in one of these), the humidity, the long or weird working hours and greatly reduced career options, the crowds will all collude to gently push you out. Or maybe none of them will, and you'll enjoy your time here just fine, but when the clock is up it's up, and you were always going to return to the place you know is home anyway. Taiwan didn't adopt you. That's OK.

Some of you will fall in love here, or find your groove, or take an interest in Taiwan's unique history, or build a community. Or it'll be the damp hills, the palm trees, the local aunties, the 7-11s, the traditional markets. Or you'll watch a major social movement unfold up close and realize Taiwan is a place and a cause worth fighting for. Something about life here will speak to something inside you, and you'll stay. You probably didn't consciously choose to. You were adopted.

In this way, I found it appropriate that Formosa Moon heavily featured cats, though they popped up in the narrative for no particular reason, and certainly not in any planned thematic way. It just did. From the cats of Houtong (another place I know well, and have started hikes from) to the painted cats (among other fantastic creatures) of Rainbow Grandpa to Joshua's friend's cats which provided a cozy sense of home to Stephanie - the other writer of the book - I found the unexpected feline leitmotif to fit. Taiwan not only adopts you like a cat (or it doesn't), but it can be as cool, beguiling or mercurial as a cat, or as winsome and homey as one too. You know your cat loves you, but you're never quite sure how much.

Or, to put it another way:


Taiwan is kind, to its native born, adopted children, and short-term guests alike. But Taiwan doesn’t change its tempo for you. Instead, you must change your tempo to adapt to Taiwan. And this will make all the difference.



Of course, you get to wax lyrical about all of this because you chose to come for reasons other than making a basic living. Supporting yourself may have had something to do with it, but you could have done that where you'd come from. You're aware that exponentially larger numbers of foreign residents in Taiwan had no such privilege. (You are aware of that, yes?)

All this is not to say that only those who know Taiwan should read Formosa Moon. I'll certainly recommend - if not outright purchase as gifts - copies of the book for loved ones back home who perhaps don't get it, most of whom because they've never visited. It describes the country well, and even the pictures (which are very "homey", not glossy professional shots, which I see as a plus) show in accurate detail what life in Taiwan is like.

As the book itself points out, cities like Kyoto (or Shanghai or Singapore or these days, Seoul) beckon to the Western traveler who is planning their first trip to Asia. Most travelers don't think of "Asia" and immediately think "Taipei". So they don't come, and therefore, they don't know. Formosa Moon, I hope, might tempt some of them into finally visiting to see for themselves why I've chosen to stay for most of my adult life.

And not only that, I'll recommend it for its unique perspective. Every other piece of Taiwan-focused travel writing on my bookshelf is by a white guy. I haven't cracked them all yet, but will. I'm sure they'll be fantastic; people whose opinions I trust have told me so. But, so much travel writing is done by white guys hitting the trail alone, and other narrative voices enrich the genre. I don't think I've seen a travelogue written by two partners in a relationship before, each with views that play off or add depth to the other.

As someone who also moved to Taiwan and then six months later convinced the love of my life to move here too, that appeals to me - as a woman and a person in a committed relationship. Ours took a slightly different route: he didn't know he was the love of my life when he moved here (I kind of did, but didn't tell him so right off), and our relationship evolved here, not in the US. I didn't "love Taiwan" when he moved here: my first six months here weren't that great, to be honest. I am sure I have had success, however, in convincing him to love this country as much as I do. We show it in different ways, but I know.

More poignantly, Formosa Moon captures what it's like to be both in a relationship with a person, and with a country. We never had to face the challenge of Brendan liking Taiwan; he did immediately, on his first visit here. I wasn't sure then how much I liked Taiwan: I didn't decide to make the commitment until three years later. That was when I'd been planning to decide if I'd stay or go; it also happened to be the year we got married. I suppose our somewhat weirdly polyamorous love grew together.

Of course there's a bittersweetness to every love story. You know how they say that in a relationship, someone always loves more, and the other less? And the one who loves less has all the power?

Although I know I can never truly be "a local" (forget not looking the part: it's just not my native culture), I want to stay and advocate for Taiwan, and gain legal rights - not just privileges accorded me out of courtesy as a permanent resident, which can be revoked. I don't expect a perfect life here. It would be nice, however, if in my relationship with Taiwan I didn't always feel like I was the one who loved more. I like to think that by opening myself up to Taiwan, that Taiwan has opened to me a little. I'll never know how much, though.

I'll end, then, on a particular salient quote from co-Stephanie Huffman:


Taiwan and I were certainly friends but had we really progressed to a love state? I didn’t know even know how Taiwan felt about me and I certainly wanted some indication of her feelings before I made any commitments.




Yup. Except I did that thing that relationship advice columnists say never to do: I made the commitment without knowing quite how she felt about me.

Still here though. You see, I was adopted.