Books: “The Paper Menagerie and Other Stories” by Ken Liu

I regret not writing my entry soon after reading. I look in upon the collection through the lens of misty memory – the sentiment beautiful; yet I know the subtle brilliance of each gem has been lost. Still, it is an apt feeling, as the idea of quantum measurement – the philosophy in which measurements (or in this case, sentiment) change with each moment, is revisited throughout the collection.

Ken Liu, is both an accomplished translator and writer – something I aspire to be. My first encounter was through his translation of the sci-fi novel The Three Body Problem, written in Chinese by Liu Cixin , which I highly recommend to any lover of the genre. And though it calls for the same activity (finding the words), as a writer, you find your own, as a translator, you find the author’s. Therefore, you must be a sensitive reader, to be a good translator; and while reading is a commonly shared trait amongst authors, it is not a prerequisite to writing.  

And I was happy to read the author’s own words. The stories embody all facets of human ethos – it is lore, it is science-fiction, it is magic, it is childhood. It travels back in time, and extrapolates way into the future. And what unities the collection is the perspective of what it is to be Chinese, or more generally, to be of race, which means culture. What do we do with the ghosts and myths of our ancestors? In order to assimilate, memories, and tradition must be sacrificed. What histories must the collective let go of for the price of progress? Such are the questions the author poses, and it is for each reader to decide. But magic can be found again, sometimes, contained in a box hidden in the attic.

For all the talk of reading, and its hidden magic, I recently find my mind too jumpy to sit and read, even more so when I try to write. Though I feel quite accomplished writing this entry of a book I read back in March. Perhaps the sedentary nature of the previous year has stirred the sleeping beast; I have jumped feet first into new projects and hobbies. Currently my nights are spent (too exhausted to follow words across a page) with Netflix, an allowance afforded to myself as a break; for Truth is as slippery and as cunning as Lupin, the gentleman thief, streaming on…yes Netflix.

For now, I am a Tull-Tok, an alien race of Ken Liu’s creation – travelling through the void that is space (yes…Netflix again) before I stumble upon another star to read.

When a Tull-Tok is tired of browsing through the endless universal library, she drifts toward a black hole. As she accelerates towards the point of no return, the streaming gamma rays and X-rays unveil more and more of the ultimate mystery for which all the other books are but glosses. The book reveals itself to be ever more complex, more nuanced, and just as she is about to be overwhelmed by the immensity of the book she is reading, her companions, observing from a distance, realize with a start that time seems to have slowed down to a standstill for her, and she will have eternity to read it as she falls forever toward a centre that she will never reach. Finally a book has triumphed over time. Of course, no Tull-Tok has ever returned from such a journey, and many dismiss their discussion of reading black holes as pure myth. Indeed, many consider the Tull-Toks to be nothing more than illiterate frauds who rely on mysticism to disguise their ignorance.

At the end of all rationality, there is simply the need to decide and the faith to live through, to endure.

That feeling in your heart: it’s called mono no aware. It is a sense of the transience of all things in life. The sun, the dandelion, the cicada, the Hammer, and all of us: we are all subject to the equations of James Clerk Maxwell, and we are all ephemeral patterns destined to eventually fade, whether in a second or an eon.”