It was magic. In every world, it was a kind of magic.
“No maids, no funny talking, no fainting flowers.” Luli Wei is beautiful, talented, and desperate to be a star. Coming of age in pre-Code Hollywood, she knows how dangerous the movie business is and how limited the roles are for a Chinese American girl from Hungarian Hill—but she doesn’t care. She’d rather play a monster than a maid.
But in Luli’s world, the worst monsters in Hollywood are not the ones on screen. The studios want to own everything from her face to her name to the women she loves, and they run on a system of bargains made in blood and ancient magic, powered by the endless sacrifice of unlucky starlets like her. For those who do survive to earn their fame, success comes with a steep price. Luli is willing to do whatever it takes—even if that means becoming the monster herself.
I went into this book pretty blind. I wasn’t sure where it was taking me, but I went along for the ride regardless. To me this a (fictional) memoir about a girl turned monster turned star. Or maybe she always was a monster. Or a star, burning silver and bright. With a personality so cold and deep, she gave the ocean a run for its money. Maybe she didn’t become those things but instead shed the skins of her former life.
I’ll admit that at first I found the book to feel like it meandered without purpose. But that’s almost the point. I don’t want to say the book is devoid of plot. However, it’s much more of a character study of the narrator. There’s a cold, calm collectiveness to her and the novel itself. She doesn’t reject necessarily; she just doesn’t mince words. The ocean doesn’t come to you; but if you go to the ocean, it welcomes you in its embrace.
One of my favorite aspects of the book was the strange things that would occur. A mother making doll-people to replace lost daughters. Not just playthings. But actual beings the father could interact with. Or a man with a monster hidden in his shadows. Nothing supernatural is explained. The narrator can’t give an explanation, and she’s not going to make one up. Some things just are the way they are.
There’s a lot to unpack with the presentation of “monster” here, too. The narrator is the siren queen. She is that character. That monster. The scenes with the movie aren’t stylized differently. They aren’t set apart with “I, in character…” They’re written the same as everything else. What exactly is a monster as presented in this book? Is it someone who is [perceived as] foreign? Whether that means foreign from the US or just foreign from Los Angeles. Is it someone who is cutthroat? Someone who makes sacrifices to get ahead—no matter what or who. Is it someone who’s LGBTQ+? The book gives examples, but it’s up for the reader to come up with a definition. The narrator fits all three. She’s American but perceived as foreign because of her looks. She sacrifices her sister’s name and 20 years of her own life to achieve her dreams. And she has relationships with other women. “Monster” here is not negative. It’s just a fact of life. (These are of course just my interpretations.)
After all that rambling, I have to say this is a short book that can be dissected to no end. It sings out at you and lays its heart out for you to see.
(I received an e-ARC from the publisher via NetGalley.
The book releases May 10th, 2022. Order a copy here.)
