Most of the West was built on the backs of others. I was hoping that Zhang’s novel gave a new perspective to the migrant labor of the Chinese building the Transcontinental Railroad. Or perhaps, the countless others that mined the hills, washed the dirty laundry, and created communities far from their native homes. What I found was perplexing. Not the racism, hatred, or harsh conditions, but the storyline itself.
They were a family of prospectors. Identity seekers. Longing for their ancestral home (well one of them). Looking for a better life. They became orphans. Struggling to find their place. Falling into the pitfalls of the unseen.
In the end, Zhang mentions the photograph of the Golden Spike taken at Promontory Point, Utah in 1869. Her protagonist, Lucy, discovers what I discovered in teaching about the Transcontinental Railroad - there are no Chinese laborers in the photo. Small, wirey, knowledgeable of explosives, they were the backbone of the labor force. Lucy is right to be appalled.
I suppose that one mention of history, sort of saved the novel for me. Although I am still contemplating many other aspects. Still, perplexed.
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