Last Pings

His phone pings on the bed next to him. It’s 2 a.m. and it hasn’t pinged in at least an hour. Odd really.

He finishes reading the page he’s on, puts down the book, and reluctantly reaches for the device. He activates the screen, enters his code, but before he can see what the ping was he’s asked for the 27th time if he wants to “finish setting up” his new iPhone. As he’s not given the choice “No, and don’t ask again” he has to click “Not Now”.

The message that caused the ping tells him the water reservoir on the dehumidifier in the other room is full. His old dehumidifier had a little yellow light that appeared on top when the water was full. He’d notice when entering the room and empty it. But that machine broke down weeks ago. He had to get a new one, and the new ones notify by message.

He decides to go empty the dehumidifier, because it’s humid in fact, it’s always humid. He knew this before taking the job in Houston, but yeah, he kind of didn't know it.

After emptying the dehumidifier, since he’s already at the bathroom sink, he figures he might as well brush his teeth and call it a night.

He reaches for his toothbrush, which at the last instant he remembers is a new toothbrush. He groans as he picks it up. Of course it has a safety casing around the bristles. The little screen lights up along the handle: “Activate your new Dentbright Toothbrush?” He clicks “Okay”. It instructs him to download the App. He trudges back to the bed and gets his phone, activates the screen, enters his code, clicks “Not Now” to finish setting up his new iPhone, then searches for dentbright.com.

He downloads the App, and after entering his code again, he can open the App. He gives Dentbright his email, creates a password, opens his email for the verification code, then goes back to the App to enter the verification code. He clicks “Set Up New Toothbrush”, then scrolls down to find his model. He clicks the icon. The connection is suddenly bad so he scrambles over to the nearest window, stubbing his toe against a desk leg in the dark. The icon for his model activates, his phone slowly connects to his new Dentbright toothbrush, and the handle says “Unlock safety casing now?” He clicks “Okay”, the casing lock clicks open, and he takes off the casing and tosses it to the floor, putting his phone on the bathroom sink.

While he’s brushing his teeth the phone pings. He rinses his mouth, puts the toothbrush in his glass, picks up the phone, activates the screen, enters his code, clicks “Not Now” to finish setting up his new iPhone, gets to the message that caused the ping, which it turns out came from Dentbright: “How do you like your new Dentbright toothbrush?”

Since he’s not given the choice “Fuck off already” he clicks “Satisfied” and puts the phone back down on the bathroom sink.

Before finally going to bed he needs to piss, so he steps over to the toilet, which gives a little chirp and says “Welcome back!”

He stands for a few seconds in the dim light, the toilet now silent. He feels the coolness of the floor tiles passing into the soles of his bare feet. He relaxes his muscles and begins to piss. He’s tired in fact. He closes his eyes as the urine streams into the bowl.

In mid-piss his phone pings, causing his body to jerk slightly in irritation, the stream of piss now spraying past the edge of the toilet bowl onto the floor.

He groans and reaches for a handful of tissue. He starts to lean down to wipe up the small puddle when his phone pings again.

He stands up straight, tossing the tissue in the direction of the puddle. The tissue misses. He steps back to the sink, looks at himself in the mirror. He stands there. Looking. Then he grabs his new iPhone which has not been completely “set up” and bounces it sharply off the tile floor, splintering the screen into a spiderweb pattern. Picking up the phone, he tosses it into the toilet bowl. The toilet says “Flush now?” but he ignores it.

Stepping back to the sink, he grabs the new Dentbright toothbrush, twists it into an L-shape, and tosses it into the bowl with the phone. The toilet says “Flush now?”

He reaches behind the toilet, pulls loose the plastic casing and yanks out the wires that power it.

He strides back toward the bedroom, passing the dehumidifier. Then he stops, turns back to the dehumidifier, unplugs it, hoists it up, and smashes it against the wall. As the machine crashes to the floor he hears someone mutter in protest in the apartment next door.

He finally returns to his bed, clicks off the light, and lies in the dark, his heart racing. He thinks about his job, about Rachel. He thinks about how when he gets up in seven hours everything—yes, everything—is going to be different.

* * *

Check out Idiocy, Ltd. and begin the long, hard reckoning.

Grass Eating (啃老族)

Shawn Chuang’s name was Shawn Chuang, but everyone called him Steve Chuang. He lived with his mother in a large flat above a bowling alley in the Shih Lin district of Taipei. The flat was large and the sofa in the flat was large and Shawn Chuang spent a lot of time on the sofa.

Though Shawn had been out of university for two years, he still hadn’t found gainful employment.

Shawn’s mother nagged him daily to find a job, any job. It wasn’t that Shawn hadn’t tried. In the two years since graduating, he had applied at three different companies for jobs. But finding work was basically impossible.

It hadn’t always been like this. As a kid Shawn had shown great signs of intelligence. Sooner than other kids, he yawned, he ate, he daydreamed. He could turn on devices with his fingers.

And Shawn was braver than other kids. He launched a rocket under his bed. He fired a cannonball at his navel. He swallowed gum--at a time when other kids still believed their mothers who said gum must be spat out. He combed a stray dog’s fur with his own comb. He put a cockroach in his shirt in math class. And left it there.

The girls admired Shawn for this bravery, showing their admiration by saying “Gross!”

In all these ways Shawn showed great promise as a child. It looked as if he would have a brilliant future. But now what?

Shawn lay on the large sofa in the large flat and considered his prospects. His major had been chemical engineering, but what could one do with that?

Just the day before Shawn had seen a TV show about Taipei young people who had learned to turn their hobbies into small businesses. The lesson of the show was “Do what you love, and you will be successful!” The host suggested the first thing for a young person to do was make a list of things they loved doing, then consider which one might be turned to profit.

Shawn took a piece of scrap paper from the coffee table and started to write his list. After fifteen minutes he had a handful of items to consider. He went through the list one by one.

Item 1: “Getting up after 11.”

It would be great, Shawn thought, but I don’t see a way to make money from getting up after 11:00 a.m. Too bad.

He crossed out item 1 on his list.

Item 2: “Putting feet up on the coffee table.”

It was true Shawn loved doing this, and he could get away with it when his mother was out, but he couldn’t see any way to make money from it. Could he maybe charge old people to help them put their feet up on their coffee tables?

He didn’t cross out number 2, but kept it open for further thought.

Item 3: “Scratch back on door frame.”

After graduating from university, Shawn discovered a great way to scratch his back on the door frame between his bedroom and the hallway. Could he maybe teach other people to scratch their backs this way? He could go to houses and say: “Hey, I know a secret way to scratch your back that is awesome, and if you pay me 250NT I will teach you.”

At first Shawn liked the idea. But then: Not everybody has itchy backs, he thought. And what if their door frames aren’t good for scratching?

He scratched out item 3.

Item 4: “Computer games.”

He crossed out item 4. If you want to make money from games, you have to be a game designer, and he didn’t know how to use the software.

Without even thinking about items 5 and 6, Shawn tossed his list on the floor.

If I could only make money somehow without leaving the house, that would be the best, he thought. Or if I could make money by staying in the neighborhood. I have to think of something I can do right near here.

Shawn considered it a great rule of life not to leave the house if he could avoid it and not to use any kind of transportation to go to other parts of the city. It had already been three months since he’d left the city block where his mother’s flat was.

Hm. There was that one time Mom bent that fork and I used my teeth to bend it back. Maybe I could open a small silverware repair shop and do pretty well for myself. Shawn’s Silverware Rebend. Maybe I could start to put some money aside.

Or how about hide and seek? Everyone likes hide and seek. If people gave me their things before they went to work I could hide the stuff in the neighborhood during the day and when they came home they could try to find it. I could charge 50NT for every fifteen minutes of seeking, which would be fun for the people after a boring day at the office and would besides encourage them to move faster, getting some exercise, because they'd know the longer it took to find their stuff the more expensive the game would be. I bet I could turn a pretty penny with the city’s first Hide and Seek company.

Or I could help the police with crime investigation by working with hair evidence. Whenever there's a bunch of hair on the ground or the stairs I can always tell which hairs come from which persons. Just by holding them up in the light. The police could call me in to help solve crimes.

Shawn imagined a scene in a crime documentary where the police detective is carefully examining the surface of a sofa. “Get Shawn here,” the detective says gravely to his assistant.

Shawn was imagining more scenes from the same documentary when his mother entered the living room.

“Hey, I told you to bring in the laundry!” she snapped. “Get off that sofa already! It’s almost 2:00 p.m.”

“I’m thinking about possible jobs,” Shawn said.

And he explained to his mother his idea for the Hide and Seek company, and after he was done explaining it the strangest thing happened: his mother removed the slipper from her left foot and came over to the sofa and started beating Shawn's head with it.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Shawn protested as the dusty slipper whacked repeatedly against his head and other parts of his body.

“If you don’t get off your ass and find a job this summer, I’m going to throw away your iPad!” his mother yelled. “I’ve already thought about doing it. I’ve had it in my hand and was this far from junking it. I swear I’ll do it next time too if you don’t get out and find a goddamn job!”

Shawn felt a wave of nervousness wash over him. Throw away his iPad? Things were getting serious.

After his mother had stormed back into the kitchen, Shawn reached down and picked his list up off the floor. He wrote down a number 7 for item 7. He set himself to thinking.

by Eric, Ryan, Claire (范姜詠欣) and Anthony (黃聖翔) at ZEI

A Dialogue with Shin Yu Pai on "Jun in Taipei"

With Shin Yu Pai in Taipei on her last visit. Photo by Mélusine Lin
Well aware that my story "Jun in Taipei" played fast and loose with American stereotypes of Asian students, I wanted some input as to whether or not it at least worked as a story and how the elements of stereotype played out. Did the stereotypes put in play come off as cheap or mean-spirited; or did they rather, as I hoped, get absorbed in the glee and cross-purposed ironies of the tale?

Who better to ask than poet Shin Yu Pai, a sophisticated reader and friend whose writing experience as Taiwanese American had often put her right in the tangle of these same issues. Shin Yu was generous enough to spend some time in online dialogue with me on details of the tale. (Aside from her accomplishments as poet, Shin Yu has recently done more writing on Taiwan, her ancestral home and now for many years my own home and one of my favorite places on the planet. If you're interested in Taiwan, and you should be, here's one of her pieces from a recent visit back.)

I think, based on Shin Yu's reaction, that too many ambiguities remain in the tale. In short, just as I'd hoped! But she wasn't all that happy with the execution, so I have to work harder next time.

Since I'm not prolific in terms of literary work, I'm grateful for Shin Yu's comments on this one piece. I try to address some of the issues she raises in my reply.

The tale "Jun in Taipei" is posted on my blog.

Eric Mader
* * *
March 3rd, 1:21am, SHIN YU writes: The way the story starts makes me uneasy as a reader. It is an opening/introduction that relies on trust, patience, and a reliable narrator (I’m not saying that the narrator is unreliable, but that combined with some other issues, he becomes suspect and that destabilizes the reading experience--it’s actually Parrish who’s the unreliable narrator). The story starts with a story within a story, a kind of hearsay until we arrive much later at meeting Jun the legend. So a lot relies on how the characters are introduced and represented.

Jun seems like a caricature. A kind of Long Duk Dong character from “16 Candles” that is “totally hopeless” and “kinda funny.” He is stereotypical in that he is a highroller/gambler, smokes incessantly, does not talk much, remains fairly undeveloped and is without a significant voice. White dude takes pity on Jun and adopts him as a kind of project/pet and doesn’t really know the guy--Jun’s behaviors are surprising to Parrish. I mean--he’s a gambler--is that like an addiction thing? He’s losing all this $--does he come from wealth and privilege, or does he have guys coming after him trying to break his knees? And then the scene with the older woman kind of being a servant/mother figure--that also felt unsatisfactory to me. There are questions that are unanswered--but I get that that’s also the point.

Parrish “has a good heart” and doesn’t know what questions to ask, because he’s not able to see himself or others clearly. Back to the depiction of the stereotypical in Jun’s character: the dialogue around the cigar was reminiscent to me of that moment in Lost in Translation when Bill Murray’s character is confronted with an escort who tells him to “lip my stocking.” (Rip my stocking.) It’s not exactly that the depiction of language and cultural misunderstanding is mean-spirited--but it might be useful to you to read some of the critiques of that film from Asian American viewers/critics.

The point of the piece seems to be about something of the anticlimactic. That and semantics/words--what is a legend. Is a legend supposed to be like a badass? And what is a badass. And what is privilege. And what is excess. And what is pathetic. But the characters are not very sympathetic. The guy from London seems like a stand in for the opposite of Jun and Parrish--but we never see what makes him charming.

It's actually a very complex story--albeit one that made me feel uncomfortable and cringy at times--not a bad thing per say--but it did lead me to question the position of the speaker

This kind of story could be very funny to a certain kind of audience/reader, but at the same time this is exactly the kind of reader who would identify with a Parrish vs. the speaker.

Issues of representation are very complex, and I could picture a dumbass reader just being like "Yeah, that Jun, how pathetic!" when actually there are many other layers of patheticness running through the whole thing.

I think you know this is not an issue of yeah I liked it, no I didn't like it. That's besides the point. I found the piece to have a lot of complexity. Was it fully unpacked, I'm not sure. It's very intelligent writing that invites a more critical mind, but I'm not sure all readers are going to bring it.

March 3rd, 3:48pm, ERIC writes: I knew I was doing the right thing throwing this little tale at you, Shin Yu. You raise a whole series of issues, some I was already aware of, others not.

I was initially happy with the story because I felt there was a lot there and that I'd done it through very simple language. I didn't however know whether the enclosed-tale structure worked on such a small scale, or if the shifting temporality and perspective would even be picked up by most readers. Or rather: I suspected most readers would pick it up, but would a sophisticated reader, like yourself, be satisfied with how it was done? Which is a different issue. So I was very curious how you'd react.

The narrative voice for the first half is, as you note, channeling Parrish. It's in free indirect discourse (at least that's what we used to call it) and I believe most readers have become so used to this kind of thing that they know this is not simply a personal narrator speaking from a kind of stable "I".

Nonetheless, I know there are many readers out there who will immediately react: "Hey, WTF! You stage this Korean guy as 'smallish' and 'quiet'--you even say he's 'hopeless'! That's just racist stereotyping."

Indeed I am staging Jun this way. Or rather: Parrish is. Through free indirect discourse. But the fact that the word "smallish" is not in quotes, followed by "Parrish said"--certainly it confuses some readers. Or perhaps we might say it invites them to feel consonance with that voice. Which I can see is an aspect of free indirect discourse which makes it less that trustworthy if one intends to provoke distance from this or that voice.

As for your comment about the "dumbass" reader who'd simply enjoy the story because in fact he's totally in harmony with the racist stereotypes and sees no irony there, I hear ya. I know there are many people who would read the story this way. But what I was hoping was to trip them up--in part through the shift to "legend" territory. But that, I know, is itself ambiguous at best--because yes, what IS the status of legend here? Isn't it ultimately a pretty pathetic concept of legend that's put in play?

I guess I'd have to answer that for many men out with friends in a bar what I narrate here is in fact the most commonly evoked notion of "legend". A legend is not quite the same as a "badass". Rather, the legend is a fuck up who nonetheless has character and is not even really miffed by being, or being seen as, a fuck up. The real legend may not KNOW how ridiculous it is for a man to name his dog Lancôme, but the main point is--once he's shown how ridiculous it is, he doesn't give a damn. He laughs himself. At himself. And is on to the next "adventure". That's my best explanation of "legend", of the redeeming element in the concept, and I think you largely got it.

But again: Does this sudden jump in Jun's stature in the eyes of a bunch of white guys who took him "under their wing"--does the jump to legend status really show that their initial attitude toward him, as a sort of "pet", as you put it, was wrong? I think the answer to that is complex. I think it shows them as largely wrong.

But again: Is this a story that shows up racist stereotypes or isn't it? Hard to answer, I believe. What makes things even less clear: When I called Parrish and his friends "good-hearted", I meant it, or meant it, say, 80%. The word "good-hearted" is still channelling Parrish, who ascribes to himself good-heartedness, but it's also, to a great degree, meant to be literally true. Yes, they were having fun with Jun, they were laughing at him, but ALSO: they were likely most of the time to have such mocking fun at each other's expense too. And were likely besides to know how to laugh at themselves. So for them this embrace of Jun was actually an act of true friendship. Arguably, at the very least.

There's much else in the tale that's ambiguous, I know. I found it interesting that you thought the character Laurence was meant to counteract both Jun and Parrish. I intended that only to a very slight degree. I couldn't give Laurence an actual voice in the tale without destabilizing the general narrative tone, which was set by Parrish and by the narrator, who only comes into selfhood toward the end, and who really does laugh heartily at the Jun "legend" as it's narrated.

As for the first appearance of Jun's real character in his demand for a "singer", I think it's hard to really characterize this as mean-spirited. Everyone who lives as an expat or who lives between two languages knows that much of the joy in life is in other's and one's own linguistic mistakes. The best we can do is celebrate it. The only instance where I find laughing at such mistakes to be problematic is when those laughing assume English to be a kind of default language--assume it to be, indeed, language as such. This typically only happens with people who've never seriously studied another language. Which is to say: Most Americans. But not in Taipei, which is where the tale is set.

I will see if I can find some of the writing on Lost in Translation you refer to. You end by asking if the story was fully "unpacked". If I understand what you mean here, my answer is: By no means. The whole thing remains in tension, with much left unanswered. For instance: How did Jun have that much money to lose in Tulsa? The reader isn't supposed to know, but perhaps will guess: Family money. Is this, then, a rich family? The smart reader will likely guess: A family rich enough that their son losing thousands of dollars does not mean the end of the world. But is a catastrophe nonetheless. Jun's idea of showing up his American friends by showing off having seduced the Korean wife of another white guy, and his pathetic staging of Korean chauvinism, in which the wife nonetheless seems a fully willing accomplice--even, perhaps, the source of the lunch idea--this is meant to be troubling and ultimately unexplained. One of the tiny touches in the tale I'm proud of is the obvious fact that the Parrish character and his friend don't even realize what's going on: they just go for the food. It's only later they get it. And when they do get it it of course is just added onto Jun's status: Legend.

Yes, I'm a partisan of fiction, especially short fiction, as troubling, ambiguous, annoying, unexplained. I'll say one more thing: reading your comments I was led to realize this kind of story is likely to get (or perhaps to reveal) three kinds of readers: 1) the dumbass reader, who never quite notices that much of the tale is framed via shoddy American stereotypes of Asians; 2) the smartass reader (with a class or two of cultural studies behind her/him) who ONLY notices these stereotypes and doesn't notice how they're being put into question; 3) the good reader, who may end up satisfied or not by the tale, but sees the tension in it.

Many many thanks for your excellent comments, Shin Yu. You think this tale worthy of trying to publish somewhere? Just a thought. I don't much care one way or the other. I'm likely going to come out with a collection of short prose pieces (prose poems; tales) later this year and may place it in there in any case. Any time you want to throw something at me, I'll do my best to comment. But: I'm likely to be less useful commenting on your poetry than you are commenting on my prose. It's been a great little dialogue. Thanks.

[Shin Yu sent me a link that collected a sampling of Japanese and Japanese-American press reaction to Sophia Coppola's film Lost in Translation. There was a pretty wide spectrum: accusations of racism, defenses of the film as focussing on the characters' confusion rather than stereotyping, etc. Unfortunately the link is now dead.]

March 3rd, 10:20pm, ERIC writes: Thanks. A good range of pieces, and in fact I think pretty well balanced. The fact that Asia Media Watch went against the film isn't surprising. Asians in America, who probably are especially sick of being stereotype, would be more likely to focus precisely on the otherness (and zaniness) of the Japanese depicted. I think we have something similar when we project how Stateside readers (whether Asian or not) vs. expat or more international readers will interpret the staged miscommunication of Jun's "singer" request. A Korean in America, faced every day with Americans who seem to think English is the only language that exists, would think it's mean-spirited. One of these monolingual Stateside folks (what you might call the "dumbass" reader) would think it's funny because it shows Jun's aberrant English. Those whose mother-tongue is English but who have done serious time in another culture would likely see it as the kind of day-to-day mishap that gives life flavor. How would Jun himself see it? As a "legend", as I defined it, I think he's likely laugh too, once the mistake was explained to him. And then might joke about Americans in Korea and their absurd pronunciation of Korean words.

Anyhow I ought to go back and watch that film again. Been a long time and have only seen it once.

March 4th, 11:49pm, ERIC writes: As for short fiction, I often think of you as the one who introduced Ben Fountain to me. A brilliant short collection. I haven't read his more recent novel however.

Did you ever get to the writer I suggested in exchange--George Saunders. He's gotten famouser and famouser since then. And I still think he's often great. But the collections have gotten a bit weaker. At least in my estimation. The best is still CivilWarLand in Bad Decline. One of the things I object to in the recent work is his move toward more structured closure in the tales--tales you can see setting up their closure from the first pages.

March 6th, 3:38am, SHIN YU writes: I also really enjoyed the dialogue. I have always been impressed by the quality of your mind and your thinking and reading your story helped me to think and to ask questions of my own biases. As for whether or not you should send it out to journals, etc.--I want to say again that it's a very complex and multi-layered piece. And it deals with race/culture, a sensitive topic. That might make is more difficult to publish. But I think you could send it out--it has a quality of completeness, but also ambiguity.

I haven't yet gotten around to reading George Saunders. I have him on my library list/queue, but I think I have user #250 or so in a long line of readers waiting for like five copies in the Seattle Public Library system. Since you first told me about him, I've noticed his career skyrocket. He's always doing big gigs and readings these days.

On Kenneth Bernard; Philip Roth

Only an American could write a story as small-minded and moronic as Kenneth Bernard's "Preparations". I found this short piece anthologized in Sudden Fiction International. Utterly vulgar in its pseudo-intellectualism, potty-brained in a jittery post-Puritan way, I wondered as I read along how Bernard was ever going to get his narrator out of the muck the piece begins in. But the tale only got worse and worse until, in a paroxysm of dumb cliche, the writer used his last words to label poor Anya a sweaty pig as she mutters "guttural sweet Russian" to the dying narrator. The supposedly profound musings that take up most of the body of this story make me want to wretch.

I know I haven't even explained the gist of this tale. It isn't worth doing. I post this here because it's only rarely that a writer's work makes me want to throw the book at the wall. Bernard, alas, is the 2011 winner in this category.

* * *
Only an American could have written the bleak and stoic masterpiece that is The Human Stain. A daring and brilliant book, difficult to put down, there is yet something deeply untrue in it, impossible, something that never ceases to irk one as one reads. I think it's this: All Roth's characters are believable as people--all, that is, except for his protagonist Coleman Silk. Though he's built up biographically, step by step, one finally doesn't really believe Silk is possible. He's a character too mythically American to be quite real. Silk's Americanism, if we might call it that, finally makes him a monster--which may very well be the essence of Roth's art here: to have proven that the American myth of the self-made man, if pushed to its limit, becomes either hollow or monstrous. Or: To the extent we are truly individuals, we can only be examples of a foolish hubris.

I read The Human Stain with few preconceptions, as I don't know Roth's poetics. I haven't been moved to read much of Roth, so I've little background telling me what he might intend. This is probably a good thing: I can read this relatively late book without reading it as either an installment in an ongoing literary project, or as part of a developing lifelong thesis on America.

I will continue with American Pastoral and The Plot Against America.