Yáng Shuāng-zǐ’s novel Taiwan Travelogue was originally published in Mandarin in 2020. A work of historical metafiction, the story is set in 1938, when Taiwan was a Japanese colony. The novel follows Aoyama Chizuko, a young, celebrated Japanese writer who travels to Taiwan on an official lecture tour. Disinterested in imperial propaganda, Aoyama seeks authentic Taiwanese culture, especially its food, and develops an intense relationship with her brilliant Taiwanese interpreter, Ō Chizuru (or Ōng Tshian-hòh in Hokkien). As they travel together, their bond is shadowed by the colonial power dynamic, exploring themes of The Paternalism of the Colonizer’s Gaze, The Fragility of Friendship Across Power Divides, and Storytelling as an Act of Historical and Personal Reckoning.

Yáng Shuāng-zǐ is the pen name for a pair of Taiwanese twin sisters, and the book is dedicated to the sister who passed away during its creation. The novel is notable for its intricate metafictional structure. It was initially read in Taiwan as the translation of a rediscovered 1954 Japanese text framed by fictional introductions, afterwords, and translator’s notes from different eras. This elaborate conceit, revealed originally in the copyright page and later confirmed in the English translator’s note by Lin King, allows the author to critique the nature of historical archives and the power dynamics of translation. Upon its publication, Taiwan Travelogue received the Golden Tripod Award, Taiwan’s highest literary honor. The 2024 English translation earned praise from major publications including The New York Times and The Atlantic. In 2026, this translation won the International Booker Prize.

This guide refers to the 2024 Graywolf Press English edition, translated by Lin King.

Content Warning: The source text and this guide contain discussions of racism, bullying, emotional abuse, cursing, illness or death, and substance use.

Plot Summary

The novel presents itself as a recovered Japanese text translated multiple times. A series of paratextual layers, including an introduction by a wansheng (a Japanese person born in colonial Taiwan) scholar, afterwords by the protagonist’s adopted daughter, and translator’s notes spanning decades, frame the central narrative as though it were a real historical document. This conceit is revealed only in the final translator’s note, where the actual author, Yáng Shuāng-zǐ, is named as the true author of the complete narrative.

The central story is narrated by Aoyama Chizuko, a celebrated young Japanese novelist whose book A Record of Youth was adapted into a popular film. In May 1938, she travels to Taiwan, then a Japanese colony, at the joint invitation of the colonial Government-General and the Nisshinkai, a Japanese women’s organization. Though the trip serves propaganda interests, Aoyama has no desire to promote the Empire’s agenda. She wants to experience authentic Taiwanese life, especially its food.

Upon arriving in Taichū (present-day Taichung), Aoyama is overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of the Islander market (within the colonial vocabulary of the novel, “Islanders” refers to Taiwanese people and “Mainlanders” to Japanese). When Aoyama struggles to buy a pineapple, a petite Taiwanese woman intervenes, speaking flawless Japanese, and teaches Aoyama how to crack roasted seeds called kue-tsí.

Aoyama’s assigned government guide, Mishima, a stiff City Hall staffer born on the island, repeatedly deflects Aoyama’s requests for local cuisine. She meets her host, the generous Madame Takada of the Nisshinkai, but is disappointed when the meals she receives from her are tailored to Japanese tastes. When Madame Takada arranges for a Taiwanese interpreter named Ō Chizuru, a former schoolteacher preparing for marriage, to accompany Aoyama, Aoyama recognizes her as the woman from the market. Chizuru proves far more than an interpreter: She is extraordinarily knowledgeable about Taiwan’s geography, history, ethnic groups, and cuisines. She arranges for Aoyama to taste the authentic dishes she craves. Aoyama privately nicknames her “Chi-chan” and quickly grows attached to her.

In June, Aoyama moves into a small cottage by the Yana River, and Chi-chan begins visiting regularly. Their relationship deepens through shared meals and travels along Taiwan’s western railway. Chi-chan’s erudition continually astonishes Aoyama: She speaks flawless Japanese and some French, and she possesses cultural knowledge far exceeding what her background would suggest. Aoyama repeatedly asks Chi-chan to be her friend, but Chi-chan responds with what Aoyama calls a “Noh mask”: an inscrutable, pleasant smile that hides her true feelings.

Colonial power dynamics shadow their relationship from the start. At a girls’ school, a staffer orders Chi-chan to clean Aoyama’s shoes; at a university event, an administrator dismisses Chi-chan as being no different from an odd-job worker. Aoyama protests both times, but Chi-chan takes the slights in stride. She eventually explains why she refuses to dine alone with Aoyama: As an Islander deemed subordinate to Mainlanders, she believes “[p]eople should eat at the same table only if they are of equal rank” (65). Only after Aoyama drops the formal “sensei” title do they share their first “equal” meal.

Chi-chan gradually reveals her origins. She is the daughter of a concubine who was a gē-tòa, a Taiwanese entertainer. As a concubine’s child in a wealthy landowning family, Chi-chan was neglected and was once sent to live with her mother’s impoverished jute-farming relatives. Now, she is engaged to a man educated on the Japanese mainland, an arrangement made by her father and half-sister. Chi-chan accepts her fate with pragmatic resignation.

Through summer and autumn, the two women travel across the island, from Shōka (Changhua) to Kagi (Chiayi) to Takao (Kaohsiung) to Tainan, bonding over elaborate meals and local histories. In Tainan, they investigate a supposed conflict between two students, a Japanese girl and a Taiwanese girl, over the slur “li-ya” (a derogatory term for Islanders), only to discover the girls have turned it into a private endearment between them.

As Aoyama’s affection for Chi-chan intensifies, she makes increasingly grand gestures: She proposes that Chi-chan move into her cottage, invites her to Kyūshū, and has a kimono made for her. Each offer is meant as friendship and protection, but with each gesture, Chi-chan grows increasingly withdrawn. She asks Aoyama pointedly whether proposing a kimono over her traditional chōsan carries an implicit judgment of her culture. Though she accepts the gift, Chi-chan retreats behind her Noh mask.

The breaking point comes during a winter trip to the Hokutō (Beitou) hot springs. Chi-chan declares that Aoyama has a “blind spot” she cannot see and insists on maintaining a strictly professional relationship. Aoyama is devastated. Chi-chan admits that Aoyama is the only person who has ever treasured her, yet still refuses friendship.

A temporary reconciliation allows them to visit Master A-Phûn, a legendary Taiwanese chef, who cooks a spectacular 12-dish banquet followed by tshài-bué-thng (leftovers soup). Nevertheless, Aoyama’s insistence on being Chi-chan’s protector triggers a final rupture. Chi-chan compares their dynamic to the dormitory students: Just as the Japanese girl never asked whether her Taiwanese friend wanted protection, Aoyama never asked Chi-chan if she wanted the same favor from her. The person Aoyama treasures, Chi-chan explains, is “the docile Islander interpreter who needs your protection” (229), not the real Ông Tshian-hòh. She formally resigns.

With Mishima reinstated as her guide, Aoyama falls into despair and loses her appetite. During a trip to Toyohara (Fengyuan), Mishima delivers a devastating critique: Aoyama appreciates Taiwanese culture as an exotic curiosity, rather than valuing it on its own terms. Commenting on the colonial project in Taiwan, Mishima concludes that “[t]here is nothing in the world more difficult to refuse than self-righteous goodwill” (247). This conversation finally illuminates the “blind spot” Chi-chan tried to name.

In the final chapter, Aoyama walks to Chi-chan’s neighborhood, a journey that Chi-chan made two or three times a week for eight months but Aoyama never once attempted in reverse. She finds Chi-chan and delivers a formal apology, acknowledging her arrogance without asking for forgiveness. She also reveals her deduction about Chi-chan’s secret past: After her mother died young, three of her mother’s gē-tòa friends raised and educated Chi-chan at a café called Kohaku (Amber), teaching her languages, social skills, and self-preservation. Chi-chan confirms this and, weeping, admits she never truly opened her heart to Aoyama. She insists that equal friendship between a Mainlander and an Islander is impossible. Aoyama counters that even imperfect feelings between unequal people can be real. Chi-chan concedes to the reality of the feelings in her shuttered heart. On the last day of March 1939, they stand together on a bridge and share one bowl of fruit and jelly ice.

The novel’s afterwords trace the book’s fictional publication history. Aoyama’s adopted daughter reveals that the final chapter was added at her request, suggesting it may represent a long-wished-for rather than actual reconciliation. Chi-chan’s own translator’s note, written in 1977 after learning of Aoyama’s death, admits she might have found happiness had she followed Aoyama to the Mainland. In the final notes, Yáng Shuāng-zǐ and Lin King reveal the entire story as Yáng’s own creation, describing the novel as “a piece of amber, one that coagulates both the ‘real’ past and the ‘made-up’ ideals” (289). Yáng dedicates the work to her late older sister.