excerpts

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From Lost Men

The Age of Regret, years ago, far away from the now. Westen Chan has not seen his father for months, will not see him for decades. He is still not used to being around his great-uncle Cane. The two of them sit in the cab of the idling pickup. His uncle pats him hard on the head. "Your aunt Catherine thinks this is a good idea." She has sent them off to meet the only other Chinese in the county so Westen will know he isn't alone.

The pair step out of the truck. Westen is small, even for eight. He is dark-haired and olive-skinned; people guess that he's a mix, perhaps even Spanish or Black Irish, but never Chinese. His uncle Cane is tall with heaped shoulders, a lumbering walk, and a bristly head of white hair. His face and arms are pink and splotchy from too many years of sun.

Westen and his uncle walk between long, tin-sided buildings, the clucking hum of chickens sifting over them. It is the egg ranch of Parker Cheung. The late morning is damp, misty, and the pair head toward the covered loading dock where Parker and other men are stacking egg ?ats on racks. Parker's face is obscured by the bill of his sweat-stained cap, but when he turns to say hello, he reveals his Chinese face, the broad roundness of it anchored by a wide but compressed nose. Westen is both cautious and pleased to see a Chinese, someone who shares the features of his father.

From Review in the French Newspaper, Les Echos

Translation of the Les Echos Review.