By Frances Atkinson
FICTION
The Honeyeater
Jessie Tu
Allen & Unwin, $32.99
Don’t be deceived; the cover of Jessie Tu’s second novel alludes to a whimsy that is entirely absent from the pages of the book. Instead, you’ll find an absorbing story about longing, power, and cultural identity, along with a forensic examination of Fay, an ambitious academic ready to make her mark in the world of literary translation, and in her relationships: professional, sexual, platonic and familial.
Like in her first novel, Jessie Tu masterfully unpicks the mother-daughter relationship.Credit: Steven Siewert
The most intense of these connections is between Fay and her mother Helen, who was born in Taiwan, but insists she has “forgotten her past”. Dad is a shadowy figure, a “bad man”, a former writer who died when Fay was little, but unwanted memories linger over them both. Fay’s interest in translation, specifically English-to-Chinese, is connected to a desire to be closer to her mother, that it might lead to communicating “on a deeper level”.
A bus tour of France (twin-share) isn’t only an opportunity for Fay to take a break, it’s a chance to tick her mum’s bucket list. Back home in Sydney, they share a flat. Helen works as a cleaner, but her main occupation is ensuring the wellbeing of her only child.
On the trip, Fay works hard on her first solo translation, Beef over Naan, a young-adult novel written by Shyla Ma, an Indian-Australian author who died in her mid-20s. Near the end of the grand tour, Fay receives two pieces of news from home – one good: her latest translation work has landed her a spot at an International Translator Conference in Taipei, the other devastating: her academic ex-boyfriend has died under mysterious circumstances.
Both are delivered via email by her boss, Professor Samantha Egan-Smith, a passive-aggressive, controlling frenemy of the first order. At one point, when Fay considers signing up for a Person of Colour academic symposium, Samantha responds, “But you are not P-O-C, Fay, not really.”
The Professor never misses an opportunity to create a power imbalance, inventing menial tasks, including coffee runs (oat flat white, no foam) and trips to the chemist to collect medications for both her and her academic husband. But Fay misses nothing, and she’s keeping score. Tu has a talent for taking a mundane moment or observation, loading it with meaning, and bringing it to life on the page.
Tu’s three main protagonists are entrenched in the scholarly world of literary translation, and an off-hand remark might actually convey multiple meanings. Tu does a brilliant job of hiding her emotional grenades in plain sight, only to detonate them at just the right moment. The entire book manages to feel both painstakingly crafted, and effortless. But perhaps her most powerful skill is creating three emotionally charged characters; outwardly, they choose composure as their armour, internally they carry rage. This powerful combination is what drives the story forward and kept this reader hooked to the very end.
As Fay prepares for her solo trip to present in Taipei, she has the chance to meet Wei-Liu, a globally celebrated author and mentor to her mercurial boss. The ageing writer is on the verge of announcing which academic will have the honour of translating his hugely successful novel, The Red Envelope, into English.
At this point, past decisions and deceptions begin to unfold, and existing tensions that have been simmering away in the first half of the book, suddenly begin to boil. Back in Sydney, Helen is riddled with anxiety knowing that her daughter’s visit coincides with ghost month, an annual festival in honour of deceased ancestors.
Tu masterfully unpicks the mother-daughter relationship – as she did in her first novel – exploring its dysfunction, pettiness, and a primal need to ensure each other’s safety. “Have you done something bad, Fay? As your mother, I suffer your punishments, too.”
That first novel, A Lonely Girl is a Dangerous Thing, won the Australian Book Industry Award for 2020 Literary Fiction Book of the Year, was long-listed for the Stella Prize and garnered widespread praise. This second offering, a delicious banquet of microaggressions and epic betrayals, refuses to play politely in a specific genre and the result is a taut, emotionally intelligent, defiant exploration of a young woman’s drive to assert herself, to be understood, in a world that would prefer she remained lost in translation.
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