BAD BAD GIRL

A great novelist distills the truth of her mother’s life, and her own.

Jen’s 10th book, she writes in an author’s note, began as a memoir of her mother, who died in her mid-90s during Covid-19. But because Agnes Jen resisted sharing her stories and left few artifacts, some invention was necessary. All the same, Jen has “stayed as true as [she] could to the facts” of her mother’s life as well as their troubled relationship: Both were bad girls. A confirmation from beyond the grave: “I knew what this book was going to say even before you wrote it, my mother says now. I knew it was going to say I was a terrible mother, blah blah blah blah. The first part explains how I became so terrible. The second part says how terrible I was.” Well, we won’t argue. Her terribleness consisted in both physical abuse and in brutally intense favoritism, making the second-born author a distant fifth to her four siblings. The withholding, abusive Chinese mother who believes she is simply doing things the Chinese way is not an unfamiliar character in either memoir or fiction, but Jen has created a fully three-dimensional portrait of her. Known for humor, Jen worries her readers will be upset this book isn’t funny, but her eye and her style of description (a couple at her first publishing job “smoked as if it was in their marital vows to keep the tobacco industry alive”; her mother’s puffy eyes are “part goldfish, part James Baldwin,” though she is “too sad to quip”) as well as the back and forth between the postmortem conversations and the main storyline keeps the mood lively. “No, I cannot forget you. You are right. You’ve won,” she concedes to her mother at one point. But actually, and for the same reason, she wins too.

Who cares what genre this is; as portraits of tough mother-daughter relationships go, it’s as moving as they come.