The Fourth Daughter

The introduction of Ang-Li Ong’s journal marks a structural pivot in the narrative, unearthing a hidden history that fundamentally reconfigures the novel’s central conflicts. By switching to Ang-Li’s first-person account from 1961, Butler provides direct testimony from the past, transforming what initially appeared as a story of maternal grief into a chronicle of paternal protection, political terror, and the impossible choices demanded by authoritarian rule. This narrative choice proves essential to the theme of Reckoning With the Past to Reclaim Identity. Ang-Li's account of Jin's arrest and execution provides the missing context for decades of silence, revealing the intricate connections between the Wang and Ong families. What the family understood as one tragedy reveals itself as something far more deliberate: Jin's death was not random political persecution but a calculated act. Thus, Yili's absence must now be seen as collateral damage in Po-wei's consolidation of power.

These chapters explore how secrets and silence function paradoxically as both destructive forces and perceived necessities born from trauma. The novel refuses to simplify this dynamic, instead examining how silence operates differently across historical contexts and why what begins as protection can calcify into pathology. Ang-Li's decision to obscure his family's history is a direct response to the political violence of the White Terror and the trauma of Jin's execution. His belief that secrecy will protect his children establishes a generational legacy of silence that outlives its original context, amplifying the theme of The Enduring Weight of Generational and Personal Trauma. Liv’s narrative approaches this theme from a different angle: Her symptoms of agoraphobia, hypervigilance, and retreat from public life represent what happens when violence is witnessed but not processed, experienced but not articulated. Liv's eventual willingness to seek help reflects a contemporary understanding of trauma, where open communication becomes a pathway to recovery. The difference between Ang-Li and Liv’s decisions is contextual: His silence was adaptive in 1961 Taiwan; hers would be maladaptive in 2020s New York. Yet the novel ultimately argues that while silence may serve as a tool for immediate survival, it perpetuates trauma's enduring weight across generations.

The revelations within Ang-Li's journal deconstruct and redefine the concept of family. The discovery that Clare is Po-wei's biological daughter links the Wang and Ong families at an even deeper level, reframing Clare's long-standing resentment toward Ah-Ma as something more complex than simple animosity. Their subsequent reconciliation, where Ah-Ma laments, “If I'd known, I would have welcomed you to the family” (223), demonstrates how truth can dissolve decades of hostility. The confirmation that Sue is Yili transforms the symbolic fourth daughter from haunting absence into living presence. Her rediscovery realigns the entire family structure, restoring the generational continuity that Po-wei severed. The emotional reunion between Sue and Ah-Ma testifies to the resilience of maternal love and the possibility of repair even after decades of separation. Family is no longer defined by bloodlines alone but by shared, acknowledged history.

Dramatic irony and narrative juxtaposition heighten the thematic resonance of these chapters, particularly in how misinformation shapes decades of family history. A key instance of irony lies in the misinformation from Wong Tai Tai, who reports overhearing that Yi-ping “threw her daughter out like garbage” (240). This misconstrued statement becomes Ang-Li’s justification for severing all ties with the Wang family, hardening his resolve and setting the course for 63 years of separation. The reader, having witnessed Yi-ping’s anguish and desperate search for Yili, is aware of the inaccuracy of this account. The narrative device reflects the atmosphere of suspicion that thrived during the White Terror, where gossip could be weaponized, objective truth became a casualty of political fear, and families could be destroyed by a neighbor's misheard conversation. By juxtaposing Ang-Li’s 1960s journal entries with the present-day reunion, Butler demonstrates the catastrophic consequences of flawed information. A single lie, however unintentional, can fracture families across generations.

The reunion banquet serves as a complex space where healing, community, and the persistence of trauma converge, emphasizing the novel’s theme of Personal Healing Through Family and Cultural Connection. Sharing a meal becomes a ritual of reconciliation that cements the newly blended family, a moment of communal joy that stands in contrast to decades of individual suffering. However, this atmosphere is shattered by Liv’s panic attack, a reminder that the healing process is not linear, and the body remembers what the mind tries to suppress. Yet, the response to her crisis marks an evolution in the family’s dynamics. Instead of retreating into isolation, Liv is supported by Ah-Ma, Clare, and Amy, who create a space of safety. This collective act of care signifies the formation of a healthier family unit, one capable of confronting pain openly. Liv’s subsequent decision to seek professional help signals a shift in her character. She accepts that recovery requires both community support and a direct confrontation of trauma.