Taiwan Travelogue

Yáng Shuāng-Zǐ, Transl. Lin King
54 pages1-hour read
Fiction
Novel
Adult
Published in 2020

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Chapters 4-6Chapter Summaries & Analyses

Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of illness, substance use, racism, bullying, and cursing.

Chapter 4 Summary: “Sashimi / Sliced Raw Fish”

Two months into her residency, Aoyama discovers that Chi-chan has been walking roughly two kilometers to visit her each time, often carrying her groceries. Aoyama proposes Chi-chan move into the cottage for her convenience, but Chi-chan deflects every argument. They settle it with a dice game: Chi-chan rolls a perfect 18 to Aoyama’s 12. A second round of the dice game, played over whether Chi-chan should at least ride a bike to the cottage, sees Chi-chan win a second time.


During these months, Chi-chan has made herself indispensable beyond her official duties: organizing Aoyama’s notes, stocking snacks, and staying late on writing days to cook elaborate meals. When Aoyama asks for jūn-piánn rolls, Chi-chan spends hours preparing dozens of components to make it for her. Later, the housekeeper, Sae-san, privately tells Aoyama that Chi-chan’s workload deserves two salaries. The remark jolts Aoyama into recognizing how much she has taken Chi-chan for granted, and she takes her to a Japanese restaurant to make amends, ordering sashimi first.


Chi-chan dismisses the gesture, claiming Islanders cannot truly appreciate sashimi. Aoyama disagrees and invites her to Kyūshū for pufferfish sashimi; Chi-chan counters with an invitation to try geh (fermented, sun-cured seafood) during their upcoming trip to Kagi. Aoyama records the preparation method in detail.


On the Saturday train to Kagi, Chi-chan covers the region’s highlights, including the scenic Alisan mountain railway and the story of Wáng Té-lù, a young man whose defense of a city against rebel forces earned the admiration of the Qing dynasty. Because of him, the region was renamed in Mandarin to Chiāyì (“commendation for a righteous deed”).


Chi-chan has already arranged a morning temple visit and ordered multiple varieties of geh from the hotel chef. Moved by Chi-chan’s thoroughness, Aoyama shares a formative childhood story: She once spent two months alone at a remote mountain shrine, surviving only on rations. She developed severe beriberi as a result. The experience left her with an obsessive relationship with food, and she credits Chi-chan as the only person who has ever truly satisfied this need during her time in Taiwan. Chi-chan’s usual composure softens; she says she is glad.


After the lecture at Kagi High School for Girls, they return to the hotel for a feast of local fish sashimi and five kinds of geh, with beer and rice wine. As the evening wears on and Aoyama gets drunk, she makes increasingly impulsive demands, including a trip to Alisan, a Hakka mochi dessert, and the best oyster geh saved for Chi-chan. She then confesses she has never had a friend to go flower-viewing with, and considers the colonial transplanting of Mainland cherry trees onto the Island to be brutish. Chi-chan, uncharacteristically flustered, admits she cannot make sense of Aoyama.

Chapter 5 Summary: “Bah-Sò / Braised Minced Pork”

In September 1938, roughly six months into Aoyama’s stay, she and Chi-chan travel to Takao for a three-day visit that includes a lecture. Spotting a street vendor selling braised pork rice, Aoyama immediately wants some despite having just eaten. Chi-chan refuses: the vendor serves customers standing at the roadside, which would be undignified for Aoyama. She adds that Aoyama is scheduled to attend a multi-course banquet with the local Women’s Cultural Lectures Association for that evening. When Chi-chan offers to have the banquet chef replicate the dish, Aoyama declines on principle: Genuine travel means eating authentic street food, not restaurant imitations.


At the banquet, an association member asks what role women and writers ought to play in the war. Aoyama responds with careful platitudes, privately feeling like a hypocrite.


Walking back to the hotel, Aoyama marvels at Chi-chan’s social acuity and ability to handle any situation without visible effort. She also recalls a moment from the train: Chi-chan identified a couple as French by overhearing a few words they exchanged, revealing a quiet familiarity with the language that extends to expressions of affection.


When Chi-chan asks about the purpose of Aoyama’s Taiwan writings, Aoyama explains she wants to preserve a record of Island culture before imperial assimilation erases it, as it already has done in Hokkaidō and Okinawa. Chi-chan replies quietly that Taiwan has already changed, then gestures to her own chōsan. Chi-chan believes the question Aoyama was asked at the banquet was a veiled attack on Chi-chan’s Islander dress. Though Aoyama tries to get Chi-chan to dismiss the woman’s comment, Chi-chan observes that people only recognize the cruelty of cultural erasure when they are its victims.


Despite Chi-chan’s concerns about an approaching typhoon and their return schedule, Aoyama insists on visiting the Katansui River Iron Bridge the next morning. Chi-chan relents. On the train, Aoyama presents Chi-chan with a large bag of assorted desserts as a gift. Chi-chan’s formal composure gives way to warmth. They cross the bridge, and the sweeping view moves Aoyama to declare Taiwan beautiful; Chi-chan quietly agrees. Chi-chan promises bah-sò-pn̄g and lóo-bah-pn̄g on their return.


Back in Taichū, Chi-chan explains the distinction between lóo-bah (pork belly braised in chunks) and bah-sò (minced pork, often made using cheap pork skin in poorer households). She shares a childhood memory: bah-sò was considered a rare treat, and she once dreamed of eating as much bah-sò as she wanted. Aoyama declares that she will fulfill Chi-chan’s dream that day and proposes beer and wine to go with the bah-sò. Chi-chan, amused, concedes defeat. When Aoyama asks her to drop the formal “keigo” address, Chi-chan agrees, saying that it would be nice to do so. As the typhoon moves toward Taichū, Aoyama invites Chi-chan to stay the night at her cottage; Chi-chan refuses and teases that they could always settle it with dice.

Chapter 6 Summary: “Tang-Kue-Tê / Winter Melon Tea”

In October 1938, Aoyama and Chi-chan visit Tainan. The chapter opens midway through a campus tour of the Tainan County First High School for Girls, led by F-sensei. She notes that the nearby Second Girls’ School, which serves mostly Islander students, is roughly half the size of the First High School.


Aoyama asks F-sensei if the Mainlander students use the slur “lí-ya” against the Islander students. F-sensei reassures her of their students’ manners, but notes the coincidence of a recent incident between two fourth-year students, Ōzawa Reiko, a Mainlander, and Tân Tshiok-bi, an Islander, involving the same slur. She dismisses it as a resolved misunderstanding, and later presents the two students as Aoyama and Chi-chan’s student hosts.


The narrative flashes backs to Aoyama and Chi-chan’s arrival in Tainan. At the Tainan Railway Hotel, a receptionist calls Chi-chan “lí-ya” and claims they have no vacancies. Chi-chan calmly presents credentials citing Aoyama’s Government-General sponsorship, and the man’s hostility reverses at once. In their room, Chi-chan explains that “lí-ya” began as a coarse way of addressing Islanders and became a derogatory slur. She acknowledges that wearing her traditional chōsan likely invited the man’s prejudice.


Back at the school, Ōzawa is broad-shouldered and candid; Tân, who is slight and boyish, is quiet beside her. Despite the reported conflict, Ōzawa consistently shields Tân from the sun and brushes petals from her shoulder. During the dormitory tour, Tân hints at a rumor that a lavatory near Building One harbors a place where students vanish.


After Aoyama’s lecture, she and Chi-chan eat their fill of street food at the West Market and drink tang-kue-tê (cold winter melon tea sweetened with boiled-down gourd), which Aoyama loves instantly. Walking back, Aoyama tells Chi-chan she finds both Islander and Mainlander food and dress equally beautiful. Chi-chan, visibly moved, raises her purse to cover her face.


That night, sleeping in the same dormitory room, Aoyama and Chi-chan decide to investigate the lavatory. Inside, they hear a voice address someone else as “lí-ya” and ask why she had not come sooner. Aoyama and Chi-chan investigate, but find the room empty, save for a photograph of Tân in androgynous, Western-style attire. F-sensei discovers them, dismisses the issue, and sends them back to bed. Aoyama theorizes the voice was Ōzawa’s, but cannot account for her disappearance from the lavatory. Chi-chan stays awake through the night working through the problem.


Just before dawn, Chi-chan wakes Aoyama and replaces the photograph on the sink. They hide on the staircase and wait. A slight figure enters the lavatory; when they check moments later, the room is empty and the photograph is gone. Chi-chan explains her deductions: She had tracked sounds in Ōzawa’s adjacent room all night, determining that Ōzawa never left, ruling her out as the lavatory figure. The person was Tân, small enough to conceal herself behind an open stall door. She points to a further clue: a flower originally on Tân’s collar had later appeared behind Ōzawa’s ear, suggesting that between the two, Tân is the bolder one, and that the slur “lí-ya” has been reclaimed by Tân as an endearment. This means that the original incident that got them into trouble with F-sensei may have been a complete misunderstanding. Aoyama, astonished, calls Chi-chan the “Great Detective.”


On the return train, Chi-chan peels water caltrops for Aoyama, reminding them of their first meeting. She observes that this is precisely why Aoyama needs her. Aoyama offers a peeled caltrop back, and the quiet exchange brings to mind the winter melon tea, whose sweetness, she realizes, only now fully registers.

Chapters 4-6 Analysis

Aoyama’s determined quest to experience “authentic” Taiwanese culture continues in these chapters, especially as Aoyama doubles down on social stereotypes that hint at her subtle imperialist biases. For instance, when Aoyama travels to Takao, she craves braised pork rice from a street vendor but resists Chi-chan’s offer to ask the banquet chef to prepare the same meal for her later that evening. Aoyama rejects the sanitized imitation on principle, insisting authentic travel requires engaging with local street fare. This contrast delineates the systemic divide between the raw, localized reality of colonized Islanders and refined, segregated spaces designed for Japanese Mainlanders. The novel elaborates on Aoyama’s motivations by revealing her desire to capture Taiwanese culture for prosperity before it is erased by the Japanese empire. Thus Aoyama’s overarching literary project further exposes the theme of The Paternalism of the Colonizer’s Gaze, casting herself as benevolent archivist as though this were the only viable option for Taiwanese culture in the shadow of the imperialist project. Aoyama’s pursuits occur against the backdrop of Japan’s intensifying imperial ambitions and forced assimilation policies like the kōminka movement. By prioritizing Aoyama’s consumption of authentic experiences over the socioeconomic realities that govern Islander life in colonial Taiwan, the narrative illustrates the widening impact of imperial power structures.


Chi-chan tries to redirect Aoyama’s awareness to this plight by calling her attention to the response her chōsan drew at the women’s banquet. Aoyama’s quick dismissal of the issue only validates Chi-chan’s later observation that cultural erasure is only recognized by its victims. With this statement, Chi-chan underscores Aoyama’s complicity in the imperialist project, despite the benevolent aims she claims to espouse. Ultimately, Aoyama perceives Taiwan largely as an enchanting spectacle to be cataloged, rather than a dynamic, evolving society inhabited by complex individuals. Her romanticized preservation efforts inadvertently exoticize the culture, prioritizing static historical record over the immediate, lived discrimination Chi-chan faces simply for wearing her traditional Islander attire. This interaction demonstrates that privileged observation often reduces the dynamic reality of the marginalized into a flattened, digestible aesthetic.


Persistent structural inequality deepens the theme of The Fragility of Friendship Across Power Divides. Aoyama repeatedly attempts to collapse the entrenched distance between employer and employee by proposing Chi-chan move into her cottage, offering to teach her to ride a bicycle, and asking her to drop formal titles entirely. Chi-chan consistently deflects these demands, settling disputes through dice games or retreating behind pleasant expressions that shield her interiority. As a marginalized woman dependent on a ruling-class employer, Chi-chan simply cannot afford the emotional vulnerability that genuine friendship requires. Her polite deflection underscores that affection does nothing to dismantle institutional inequity; a reciprocal bond cannot take root when structural dynamics demand the perpetual compliance of one of the parties involved.


The mystery at the Tainan girls’ school functions as a mirror for Aoyama and Chi-chan and an allegory for linguistic subversion, highlighting the broader theme of Storytelling as an Act of Historical and Personal Reckoning. When Chi-chan deduces that Islander student Tân Tshiok-bi has reclaimed the derogatory slur “lí-ya” as a private endearment for her Japanese classmate, she highlights the marginalized student’s subversion as she actively rewrites her colonizer’s language. Chi-chan’s meticulous, overnight deduction mirrors her own quiet intellectual subversions, such as her covert fluency in French and encyclopedic knowledge of regional histories. On the return train, Chi-chan peels water caltrops for Aoyama, echoing their very first meeting over roasted seeds and reinforcing that Aoyama remains entirely dependent on Chi-chan’s navigation of the Island. Through these intersecting narratives, the text emphasizes how marginalized individuals navigate and amend rigid structures imposed upon them. The continuous reinterpretation of events asserts that history is active, ongoing construction rather than monolithic, uncontested imperial record.

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