Read Full Review >Ĭheung’s intimate memoir of Hong Kong explores what it means to live in and love a complicated city. It’s time to let Hong Kongers, in all their multitudes, speak for themselves. For far too long, faraway interests have claimed to speak for Hong Kong. 'Maybe this isn’t the book you expected to read,' Cheung writes. She drops Chinese characters in the text sometimes without translation or explanation. Readers won’t find those views here Cheung does not claim to represent anyone but herself. Cheung’s critiques ring true.her derision for this faceless 'cosmopolitan' set is so scathing, her view that affluent, apolitical people overlook the real Hong Kong so transparent, that I found myself wanting to hear more from these people themselves. There is an almost trancelike quality to her memories, of both dramatic and quiet moments. Cheung is bracingly forthright about her depression and the difficulties of navigating a public health system that is often unaffordable and inaccessible. Cheung writes eloquently about what it means to find your place in a city as it vanishes before your eyes.
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