It is difficult to classify Yang Shuang-zi's Taiwan Travelogue . It is not just a novel set in occupied Taiwan in 1938, nor a travelogue, nor a work about power relations. It is all of these and more: a metaliterary artifact that plays with the notion of translation, with the figure of the absent author, and with the fragility of historical memory. And, as if that were not enough, Lin King's English translation received the 2024 National Book Award for Translated Literature, which has contributed to projecting this author's voice internationally.
The (fictional) novel we are reading is, in fact, an alleged translation of a Japanese work written by Aoyama Chizuko, a young Japanese author sent by the colonial government to make a lecture tour of the island. There she meets O Chizuru (or Wang Chien-ho in Mandarin Chinese), a Taiwanese teacher who works as an interpreter. The story is based on the relationship (toxic force) that is established between them, marked by a strong asymmetry: on the one hand, Chizuko, egocentric, capricious and indulgent; on the other, Chizuru, cautious, reserved, almost submissive.
But what makes this work such a unique project is its narrative construction. The text opens with an “introduction” signed by Hiyoshi Sagako, a fictional academic who claims to be wansheng (Japanese by blood but born in Taiwan under the colonial regime). She tells us, bluntly, that wānshēng are “ghosts without a home or caste” and that only ghosts have access to certain perspectives. This introduction, which acts as a paratext, tells us how we should read the work: not as a direct testimony, but as a half-baked fiction, probably full of lies, written years later by an author who wanted to rewrite herself and give meaning to an experience that had overcome her.
In this sense, Taiwan Travelogue connects with other works of contemporary Taiwanese literature that address colonial memory from a fictional perspective (perhaps Wu Ming-yi?), but with an additional layer: the game of mirrors between author, translator, interpreter and protagonist. The act of translating (and rewriting) becomes here a tool of power, but also a form of symbolic revenge. If Chizuko represents the colonial voice that speaks (and seduces), Chizuru is the voice that interprets, that negotiates.
Literally, the novel stands out for its attention to detail, especially in the culinary realm: Taiwanese and Japanese dishes are compared, described, and even some recipes are sneaked in. Gastronomy becomes another space of tension and cultural exchange. But beyond the food, what really strikes is the ambiguous tone, the lack of certainties, and the constant questioning of what we read.
An intelligent and uncomfortable novel, recommended for readers accustomed to reading between the lines and walking the margins of fiction. If you are interested in literature that interrogates history from the point of view of invention, Taiwan Travelogue is a good read.



