Chinese Parents Don't Say I Love You is exquisite. The author weaves a tale of food, finding love, cultures, and parents. I love that she wasn't afraid to play around with the way that certain chapters were formatted, and didn't keep everything linear.

Overall, I enjoyed this book, but at times I found it disjointed—though I believe this was intentional. The author is telling her story, and at times, her life is confusing, emotional, and challenging, and this is reflected through the structure of the book.

She writes about a breakup and alludes to difficulties with her parents, who didn't acknowledge her boyfriend for many years. They also experienced distance in their relationship, only meeting outside their homes. I would have liked more information about their relationship, and why this happened.

I liked how she refers to her current boyfriend as "the geographer," preserving his anonymity.

I was drawn to this book because I’ve lived in China and enjoyed reading about the different dishes. It was clear how certain Chinese dishes were special to her and served as a love language within her family.

I also would have liked more details about her role as a food reviewer.

I appreciated the references to other writers and the inclusion of memorable quotes—it made me look up other authors.

Finally, I wasn’t expecting the pandemic to be part of this book, but it was interesting to see how it affected her story.

I received an advanced review copy from NetGalley and this is my honest review.

“Chinese Parents Don’t Say I Love You” by Candice Chung is a reflective and intimate memoir that captures a pivotal year in her life. Set in the months leading up to and during the COVID-19 pandemic, Chung explores the deep connections between food and the relationships that shape her world. Now that some time has passed since the pandemic started, it’s fascinating to read personal accounts of that period and how it reshaped people’s lives.

While the book explores her relationship with her parents, much of the focus shifts to the romantic relationship that develops during those months. Sometimes, her parents feel like background characters when they could have played a more central role. That said, I enjoyed Chung’s memoir. Her lyrical writing style pulls you right into her experiences, and the way she weaves food into the narrative is beautifully done—it often takes center stage in the best way.

I’d recommend this to anyone looking to explore more Asian writers and their nuanced takes on relationships, identity, and family.

I honestly had to go back and check the blurb because this book was not at all what I was expecting. With comparisons to both the beautiful, gut-wrenching familial reflection of Crying in H Mart and the incredible food writing of Butter, I was expecting something entirely different to what I got.

The focus is on the author and her romantic life. Primarily, we accompany her off the back of a breakdown of a 13-year relationship for which, (I think?), she's estranged from her parents. It's nebulous and never explored, remaining a huge elephant in the room for the length of the book. Instead, we spend a lot of time in the author's head with her insecurities as she navigates a new relationship. The choice to not name the love interests added further distance as a reader. Literally everyone else has a name? Even friends that are mentioned once in passing.

The parents felt like side characters and I was so disappointed at how little we got to know them. There isn't a lot of commentary of exploration of the lack of verbal affection (plus, we've got this hinted-at estrangement that likely provides some context for the supposed 'distance' between the author and her parents). I felt like we were missing critical information that would have helped contextualize a lot of the tension there. Instead, they all just pretended nothing happened and stay in this non-communicative limbo?

With that, the book suffers from a maddeningly distracted attention span. As if it doesn't know what it wanted to focus on and just sorta drifts instead. It felt navel-gazey at many points, especially the stream of consciousness style and random asides that didn't add anything meaningful. The author spends an excessive amount of time quoting authors, films, and books. It gave such a claustrophobic, insular feel. Almost like instead of experiencing human life, she'd only read about it, and was parasocially invested in these authors.

I've read a lot of strong food-themed books lately that have made my mouth water and transported me to the meals. Sadly, I didn't get that same experience with this. Sure, we get loads of lists of food and meals, but they didn't stir anything in me from a sensory perspective.

I liked the pictures of the lorikeet and the moving boxes as well as Yeye's art. I wish there had been more pictures! There were some beautiful turns of phrase sprinkled throughout the book too, hints at the author's capability. The prologue was one of the best intros I've ever read. This frustrated me more and I wish the author had just written what she'd wanted rather than trying to write a story she was clearly hesitant to tell.

In summary, it's hard to write a convincing memoir when the author is reticent to be open with readers. The detached style and huge plot/context holes meant I couldn't connect with the story or the characters. Ultimately, I went into this book excited to explore themes of familial reconnection (and maybe complexity) through food but was disappointed by the execution and the lack of emotional commitment.

Perhaps it's worth exploring the book's unique selling points and adjusting some of the expectations (and book comparisons) prior to release. I'm sure there's a readership for stories about finding your partner, but I felt really misled by the blurb.

Hi, I just published my review on Goodreads! Thanks for Candice Chung and Elliot & Thompson for allowing my request to read this beautiful book. Hence I show you the link of my review instead. Once again thank you so much.