The Telling of An Asian American Story
By Sharon Ching, Staff Writer

Ever since learning how to read, I have been smitten and impassioned by the written word. Its ability to evoke emotions, to question my thoughts and ideologies, to provide questions, and to entertain have been a source of learning and developing as an individual. As an aspiring writer, I seek to delve within my own experiences, questions, and musings to reveal a story and share it with others. The art of writing is personal, and so when a writer shares a story, no matter how farfetched or different it may be in reality, there is an autobiographic element in the story. It only seems natural, anyhow, as the mere selection of certain words of description or certain characteristics for the protagonist signify something for the writer.

As an Asian American writer, it appears almost obligatory to write about issues concerning identity. These questions of identifying with the “American side” or the “Asian side” pose great struggle and frustration for Asian Americans, and so it is acceptable and almost expected in Asian American writing.

However, I feel that identity is an exhausted and weary topic of discussion. This constant self-interrogation of belonging and individuality has racked and perplexed minds. I don’t deny or belittle the significance of this, after all, it characterizes much of the Asian American experience (generalized, of course) – discrimination, stereotypes, exoticism, silent minority, lack of representation, and so forth. Still, this issue bothers me, in part perhaps because I want to view a writer as a writer, as an artist, as a thinker, and not label a writer on his or her “specific identity.” It seems like there are categories and check boxes like that of college and scholarship applications. When it comes to writing, an Asian American writer weaves tales of Asian Americans, African American writers tell stories about African Americans, and Latino writers express thoughts of Latinos. Why can’t a writer simply be an artist first? Why does a writer need to be restricted and confined to write a certain way, style, or story simple because he or she can have a label before –American.

The question I pose is not simply my perplexity over identity, in whatever way it can be defined, but rather an identity that Asian Americans seemingly have adopted. As an Asian American writer, it is already difficult to have major publishing companies consider one’s work, and those who do, prefer to stick to a tried-and-true strategy. Case point: Amy Tan’s wildly successful The Joy Luck Club; tale of mother-daughter relationships with expected tensions from assimilation and the search for identity, garnered phenomenal profit for its publisher. Asian American writers who attempt to diverge from this framework of writing are frequently ignored as publishing companies do not see a profitable return if the story is not about identity or finding one’s “American-ness.” There would be too much of a risk that books would not sell, which leads to other questions as to why this would not happened. It almost seems like readers, too, have been conditioned to believe there is only one type of Asian American writing, and a divergence would mean rejection for those writers.

There is nothing wrong with the writing of The Joy Luck Club. In fact, I celebrate Amy Tan because of her beautiful writing style and also for her success. No other Asian American writer, in particular female writer, has reached her level of national recognition as she has. Her novels are well-constructed woven tales, but they follow similar themes involving mothers and daughters, East vs. West tensions, and identity dilemmas. Is it possible for another Asian American writer to reach such a level as Amy Tan?

So much wonderful writing by Asian Americans is under-appreciated, primarily due to a lack of exposure to the public. If an ordinary, perhaps avid reader is to be asked to name a well-known Asian American writer, there is a high probability he or she will respond: Amy Tan. Maybe the name of Maxine Hong Kingston might pop up. If asked about playwrights, the name of David Henry Hwang may come about. Though there is nothing wrong with appreciating the works of these writers, it is also important to explore the works of other writers, if nothing else to read stories of other kinds of Asian American experiences.

The Asian American Writer’s Workshop in Manhattan offers a lovely enclave of works by Asian American novelists, playwrights, and poets that are often missing from the shelves of those large-chained bookstores. There are experiences and stories waiting to find an audience, hoping to incite emotion and evoke questions. It was only when I stated taking courses on Asian American and Pacific Islander experiences did I become aware of another realm of writing. It provided me with some hope as an Asian American and a writer, but also saddened me to realize how much people were missing when not given opportunities to read other Asian American stories. There is so much great writing encompassing all kinds of experiences and many that do not focus solely on identity. For example, Timothy Liu, a Chinese-American gay poet, writes impassioned poetry about homosexuality and the relationships among families due to that, as well as other stigmatized topics such as HIV/AIDS.

This ultimately is the revelation I’ve been seeking myself. I like to think that when a writer tells a story, be it is in the form of a play or a poem, it is because the writer feels a story come over and is compelled to share it regardless of whatever personal attributes the story may encompass later on. I like to think that when a reader reads a story, regardless of the reader’s personal identity, that the story can still resonate. In the end, I hope Asian American writers don’t have to feel limited in what kind of story they can tell. There is nothing wrong with telling stories of identity if one is compelled to do so. However, an Asian American writer should view him or herself as a painter and sculptor, shaping words to reveal a hidden thought, a concealed question, or a forgotten experience. Ultimately, the most important understanding is that the art of writing cannot be restricted or limited, that the beauty behind writing is that it can be anything a writer wants it to be.