Taiwan Travelogue
Author: Yang Shuāng-zǐ
Translated by: Lin King
Published by: And Other Stories
Pages: 295
Format: Paperback
My Rating: ★★★★★
Translated by: Lin King
Published by: And Other Stories
Pages: 295
Format: Paperback
My Rating: ★★★★★
Disguised as a translation of a rediscovered text by a Japanese writer, Taiwan Travelogue is a bittersweet story of love between two women, nested in a mouthwatering exploration of food, language, history and power.
Set in May 1938, the young novelist Aoyama Chizuko sails from Japan to Taiwan where her interpreter proffers tantalising glimpses of island life and helps her to tase as much of its cuisine as her larger-than-life appetite can bear.
Set in May 1938, the young novelist Aoyama Chizuko sails from Japan to Taiwan where her interpreter proffers tantalising glimpses of island life and helps her to tase as much of its cuisine as her larger-than-life appetite can bear.
My thoughts:
Taiwan Travelogue follows the story of Japanese writer Aoyama Chizuko who travels to Taiwan to document and write. Set in 1938, when Taiwan was under Japanese colonial rule, the novel follows the Japanese writer as she travels around Taiwan to write a series of travel essays and explore the island's cuisine and culture. Accompanying her is her Taiwanese interpreter, Ō Chizuru ("Chi-chan"), who she gradually develops a complicated and increasingly intimate relationship with.
The book presents as part historical fiction, part culinary travelogue, and part sapphic romance. Each chapter is centred around a different Taiwanese dish, and the detailed descriptions of food and place are so rich and vivid, it does at times feel as if you are truly reading a travelogue.
It is a very cleverly crafted book that deals with an area of history that I admittedly didn’t know much about. The history of Taiwan and its inhabitants was beautifully illustrated through the eyes of Aoyama Chizuko, who absolutely loves food.
The subtle, yet very present, love story is so beautifully told, and it feels very real, acting as the undercurrent for the whole novel. But Taiwan Travelogue also explores identity, cultural differences, power dynamics and of course food, along with the growing queer connection between its two central characters.
Part of what made the relationship so compelling for me was how much is left unsaid. Rather than big romantic moments or dramatic declarations, their feelings slowly emerge through small gestures and shared experiences. Food becomes a kind of love language between the two women. Chi-chan introduces Chizuko to dishes, explains their history and significance, and guides her through Taiwan with warmth and care. By the end of the novel, those shared meals often feel more intimate and meaningful than the conversations themselves.
I would perhaps not describe this as a ‘slow burn romance’, because to me it is not a conventional romance at all. The tenderness lies in the attention the two women pay to one another, and in everything that remains unspoken. Much of the yearning comes from the idea of translation. Throughout the novel, Chi-chan helps Chizuko understand Taiwan by translating its language, customs and food for her. But while words can be translated, feelings are much harder to explain. As their friendship grows, there is a lingering sense that both women may be feeling more than they are able (or willing) to say out loud.
It's the sort of book where the emotional weight builds so quietly that you almost don't realise how invested you've become until much later.
I took much longer to read Taiwan Travelogue than I normally would a novel, but that felt right somehow. Rather than rushing through it, I found myself reading a chapter here and there and really taking my time with it, especially during the recent heatwave. Even though it's a quiet, slow-moving book, I always looked forward to picking it up again whenever I had the chance. In the end, I was genuinely sad to finish the novel. Spending time in its world had become such a comforting part of my routine that I’m still not sure I’m quite ready to leave it behind.
Taiwan Travelogue is not only beautiful and quietly heartbreaking, but also thoughtful, politically insightful and filled with a lingering sense of unresolved longing. I loved it.
Overall reaction:
Taiwan Travelogue follows the story of Japanese writer Aoyama Chizuko who travels to Taiwan to document and write. Set in 1938, when Taiwan was under Japanese colonial rule, the novel follows the Japanese writer as she travels around Taiwan to write a series of travel essays and explore the island's cuisine and culture. Accompanying her is her Taiwanese interpreter, Ō Chizuru ("Chi-chan"), who she gradually develops a complicated and increasingly intimate relationship with.
The book presents as part historical fiction, part culinary travelogue, and part sapphic romance. Each chapter is centred around a different Taiwanese dish, and the detailed descriptions of food and place are so rich and vivid, it does at times feel as if you are truly reading a travelogue.
It is a very cleverly crafted book that deals with an area of history that I admittedly didn’t know much about. The history of Taiwan and its inhabitants was beautifully illustrated through the eyes of Aoyama Chizuko, who absolutely loves food.
The subtle, yet very present, love story is so beautifully told, and it feels very real, acting as the undercurrent for the whole novel. But Taiwan Travelogue also explores identity, cultural differences, power dynamics and of course food, along with the growing queer connection between its two central characters.
Part of what made the relationship so compelling for me was how much is left unsaid. Rather than big romantic moments or dramatic declarations, their feelings slowly emerge through small gestures and shared experiences. Food becomes a kind of love language between the two women. Chi-chan introduces Chizuko to dishes, explains their history and significance, and guides her through Taiwan with warmth and care. By the end of the novel, those shared meals often feel more intimate and meaningful than the conversations themselves.
I would perhaps not describe this as a ‘slow burn romance’, because to me it is not a conventional romance at all. The tenderness lies in the attention the two women pay to one another, and in everything that remains unspoken. Much of the yearning comes from the idea of translation. Throughout the novel, Chi-chan helps Chizuko understand Taiwan by translating its language, customs and food for her. But while words can be translated, feelings are much harder to explain. As their friendship grows, there is a lingering sense that both women may be feeling more than they are able (or willing) to say out loud.
It's the sort of book where the emotional weight builds so quietly that you almost don't realise how invested you've become until much later.
I took much longer to read Taiwan Travelogue than I normally would a novel, but that felt right somehow. Rather than rushing through it, I found myself reading a chapter here and there and really taking my time with it, especially during the recent heatwave. Even though it's a quiet, slow-moving book, I always looked forward to picking it up again whenever I had the chance. In the end, I was genuinely sad to finish the novel. Spending time in its world had become such a comforting part of my routine that I’m still not sure I’m quite ready to leave it behind.
Taiwan Travelogue is not only beautiful and quietly heartbreaking, but also thoughtful, politically insightful and filled with a lingering sense of unresolved longing. I loved it.
Overall reaction:
