The Hundred Secret Senses

Part 3 marks a significant turning point in the novel, both structurally and emotionally. Chapters 10 through 18 move the narrative from San Francisco to China, marking a significant tonal shift. This geographical change signals a corresponding internal shift for the characters. In China, the boundaries between past and present, myth and memory, and the living and the dead grow increasingly permeable.



The owl serves as a symbolic guide, marking the moment when the boundaries between the physical and spiritual worlds grow thin. When Kwan rescues the snowy owl and later releases it, the bird becomes a living emblem of freedom, intuition, and the emotional release Kwan hopes to achieve. Its presence signals that the characters are nearing a turning point, one in which old sorrows and unresolved histories must either be carried forward or let go.

The physical return to China intensifies the theme of The Continuity of Past and Present, as the land itself becomes a conduit through which Kwan’s alleged past lives and ancestral memories resurface with renewed force. As the characters move into rural Guangxi and eventually toward Changmian, Olivia begins to observe that Kwan’s stories—once easy to dismiss as fantastical—suddenly appear grounded in lived texture and specificity. As she walks around these villages, Olivia sees Kwan’s stories come to life and feels as though she has been there before. The bus crash they pass, the villagers who immediately recognize something unusual about Kwan, and the shifting energy of the landscape all support the possibility that time is not linear in the world Kwan inhabits.

Tan’s structuring of this section mirrors this blurring: chapters alternate between Olivia’s first-person perspective and Kwan’s detailed, historically inflected accounts of her life as Nunumu during the Taiping Rebellion. These embedded narratives no longer feel distant or metaphorical. Instead, they begin to function as parallel realities that illuminate and shape the unfolding story in the present. The two women’s arrival in China marks the first moment in the novel in which Olivia acknowledges, even if reluctantly, that the past Kwan describes may be something more than story. When Kwan predicts Big Ma’s death before they receive confirmation, the event destabilizes Olivia’s rational framework.

A central moment that captures the continuity of past and present occurs when Kwan stops before a wall in the village and begins to cry. Olivia narrates: “Kwan was staring at the wall as if seeing something in it that I could not” (214). This line is pivotal: The wall functions as a metaphorical threshold through which past reality presses into the present moment. For Kwan, the wall is a screen on which historical memory and present consciousness converge. For Olivia, the moment marks her first genuine openness to the possibility that time is layered rather than sequential.

Part 3 also deepens the novel’s engagement with Cultural Identity as Storytelling, particularly as Olivia confronts a homeland that feels both familiar and alien. Throughout these chapters, Tan contrasts Olivia’s fragmented sense of identity with Kwan’s seamless integration of the cultural, historical, and spiritual threads that define her sense of belonging. Olivia is an outsider in China—linguistically, emotionally, and socially. She recognizes words and gestures from her childhood but cannot inhabit them with the confidence or intimacy Kwan possesses. This gap highlights the distance between inherited cultural identity and lived cultural belonging.

Kwan’s belonging is marked by an embodied ease: Villagers greet her as one who has returned rather than one who arrives anew. Her connection to the land, the people, and the customs contrasts sharply with Olivia’s discomfort. Kwan and the villagers share jokes about Olivia’s use of Mandarin Chinese—not the language of this village—and her American ways. Scenes in the village hall, the bustle of Big Ma’s mourning rituals, and the shared meals all reinforce that cultural identity is a system of meaning, recognition, and relationship. Olivia observes Kwan slipping into fluent dialects and old kinship ties, destabilizing Olivia’s long-held assumption that Kwan’s cultural knowledge was eccentric rather than authentic.

This dynamic makes clear to Olivia that cultural inheritance is not the same as active participation. Olivia has inherited fragments of Chinese heritage, but she lacks the lived memory to situate herself fully within its worldview. This tension becomes especially clear in her interactions with villagers who interpret her behavior through communal expectations rather than individual preference. Instances in which she bristles at ritual or the meals she is served, questions spiritual explanations, or hesitates during communal gatherings further enhance this divide.

At the same time, China also reveals Olivia’s desire for connection. Kwan’s stories begin to resonate with her not because she suddenly believes them but because they offer a framework through which she can imagine herself as part of something larger than her own isolated narrative. This marks the beginning of Olivia’s transformation: Her recognition that belonging may require relinquishing the boundaries she has constructed between belief and disbelief, self and family, present and past.

The theme of The Emotional Inheritance of Trauma gains depth and urgency in this section, particularly as Kwan’s past-life narrative reaches its climax. Nunumu’s tale shifts from adventure to tragedy, revealing the violence, betrayal, and loss she endured in the final days of the Taiping Rebellion. The emotional weight of these memories does not remain confined to the historical narrative; instead, it floods into the present as Kwan grapples with the unspoken trauma of separation from loved ones across lifetimes.

Kwan’s emotional patterns—her protectiveness, her fierce loyalty, her fear of abandonment—become legible as inherited traits, carried from Nunumu to her present incarnation. Her devotion to Olivia and Simon is rooted in a long-standing desire to rectify past losses and betrayals. She continually reiterates that she must bring Olivia and Simon together, not merely for their happiness but to restore what was broken before. This compulsion reflects Tan’s broader exploration of how trauma circulates across generations, imposing emotional obligations on individuals who may not fully understand their origins.

Olivia, too, carries inherited trauma into the present. Her relationship with Simon has long been shaped by the shadow of Elza—a woman who remains emotionally present despite her physical absence. Simon’s grief gives rise to Olivia’s insecurity; his unresolved past shapes her emotional present. In China, Olivia confronts the extent to which she has internalized not only her own childhood guilt but also Simon’s unarticulated mourning. When she confesses the truth about the séance, the moment is not merely confession but release: an acknowledgment that the emotional burdens she carries must be exposed before they can be shed.