DNF (Did Not Finish) @ 14%

Although the premise of this book is so intriguing, the writing style was too flowery and dense for me. Add in the jumps in perspective and time, and it just made it very hard to get into the story. I know other people love this book, though, so it likely just depends on personal taste!

Content Warnings:
homophobia, racism, child abuse

A poetic account of the life of Bình, a Vietnamese cook, who works for and lives with Alice B. Toklas and Gertrude Stein. The writing is beautiful but it feels like it spends the first half of the book searching for something to grab onto. About halfway through, it finds substance to really sink its teeth into. Themes of cooking, love, colonialism, labor, tradition vs. modernity abound. Despite being set in the 20s & 30s, it feels rather timely to much of what's going on in the world right now, which is kind of sad, in a way.

I read this book for a course on queer historical fiction. The story is told by a gay Vietnamese cook who works for Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas in Paris during the late '20s/early '30s. There's not too much plot, but what's there is dispensed slowly, with another piece being added to several timelines with each chapter. The story is drawn from a brief mention in The Alice B. Toklas Cook Book about their actual Vietnamese cook, and it is satisfying to read this novel from the latter perspective: it's "the Steins" who are relegated to the background, one part of a longer narrative, and there is hardly any attention paid to the various artistes who came to visit Gertrude Stein (this is a good thing).

The best thing, though, is the writing, which is the verbal equivalent of some incredible, painstakingly prepared meal: every clause seems to be constructed in the most imaginative and appealing way, I remember the description of a halved melon as offering its red belly and "button of seeds", and I wonder how anyone could conceive of such a cool way to describe a fruit...

So it's a "deliciously written" book, as one of the blurbs puts it. It's also a somewhat brooding book, about the loneliness and confusion of moving to a new land with a strange culture and language. As someone who's never gone farther from the U.S. mainland than British Columbia, I was also constantly intrigued by the idea of being an alien in a city of indifferent, condescending or suspicious strangers... This was one of those rare assigned readings that constantly feels like procrastination.

How can a book be both amazing and dull at the same time? The language was so fresh it pulled me in immediately, thinking "a major five-star read!" And much of the text was riveting with its rich details, scrumptious foods, romantic tension, and exotic (to me) locales. But the story started to bog down due, in part, to its frequent changes of time and place. And certain confusions (was the dad still alive in Vietnam, or speaking from the grave?).

Also, it seems that modern literary novels insist on long, dense paragraphs with no white space. That solid text may be the trend, but it is not so good for my tired eyes and distracted thoughts.

There were many good parts of the story. I loved eavesdropping on GertrudeStein and Alice, and their domestic habits and affections (whether fictionalized or not). Their prissy little dogs added humor. And Binh's "romantic" encounters were subtle and exquisite, though, of course, tragic in the end.

I'd like to read other books by this author with the same fresh language, but more of a plot.

DNF @ 38%

I rarely dnf books, but I tried to read this at least four separate times and it threw me into a reading slump each time.

The writing is simply overblown, too purple, and it left me wondering when the plot was going to start.

This book lacked plot. The premise was interesting but it is overshadowed by pages and pages of euphemistic, figurative language, beautiful imagery, and wandering flashbacks that became cloying. Two stars seems too generous but one star seems harsh for an author who put a lot of research and effort into the character development and themes around colonization, racism, homophobia, and identity.

it’s been a while … i wish i had gr sooner but i remember really enjoying this one along w all the thoughts i had about it

maybe i’ll reread it sometime

Such a brilliant premise for a book--Truong, based on a few lines from Toklas' real cookbook, imagines what it would be like to be the Vietnamese cook/servant to the famous ex-patriot couple Gertrude Stein & Alice B. Toklas in Paris. The story intertwines the difficult life of Binh (the homosexual Vietnamese servant) with the glamourous & hilarious lives of the Steins. This book revolves around reconciling traditional cultures with that culture's ever-changing future. Painful and wonderful.

Read for class.

I had a great and indulgent time with this book!! it’s the perfect summer read next to a bowl of fruit and a cold hibiscus tea if you’re into that.. the book is so generous with its details and observations to the point where they situate you within the settings but also suffocate you a bit with its intensity (not necessarily a bad thing!). I really enjoyed the cameos and will forever be so happy that this book exists in the Viet lit canon (I mean, Gertrude Stein? Yves Klein? Ho Chi Minh? Crazy crossover). I wish there were more plot points that didn’t involve men screwing the narrator over.. he deserves so much better!! Anyway this was a very enthralling and entertaining read!!

I hate to admit it, but I tend to munch down books as if I had eaten a tray of Alice B. Toklas' famous brownies when The Book of Salt told from the viewpoint of Binh, GertrudeStein and Alice B. Toklas' gay Vietnamese chef should be savored slowly. I was impressed by the beauty of the writing and wonderful little vignettes about Stein and Toklas or as they were otherwise known "Lovey" and "Pussy." Here is the one in which he first meets them:

I remember that on the day that I was hired GertrudeStein was present for my first discussion with Miss Toklas about the menus for the coming week. That conversation took place then, as it does now, in the kitchen. GertrudeStein, I now know, never goes into the kitchen. She must have sensed the potential in me from the very beginning. I wanted that afternoon to ask Miss Toklas whether the household budget would allow for the purchase of two pineapples for a dinner to which my Mesdames had invited two guests. I wanted to tell her that I would cut the first pineapple into paper-thin rounds and sauté them with shallots and slices of beef; that the sugar in the pineapple would caramelize during cooking, imparting a faint smokiness that is addictive; that the dish is a refined variation on my mother’s favorite. I wanted to tell her that I would cut the second pineapple into bite-sized pieces, soak them in kirsch, makethem into a drunken bed for spoonfuls of tangerine sorbet; that I would pipe unsweetened cream around the edges, a ring of ivory-colored rosettes. And because I am vain and want nothing more than to hear the eruption of praises that I can provoke, I wanted to tell her that I would scatter on top the petals of candied violets, their sugar crystals sparkling. “Madame, I want to buy a pear . . . not a pear.” Miss Toklas looked at me, recognition absent from her eyes. I, yes, lost the French word for “pineapple” the moment I opened my mouth. Departing at their will, the words of this language mock me with their impromptu absences. When I am alone, they offer themselves to me, loose change in a shallow pocket, but as soon as I reach for one I spill the others. This has happened to me many times before. At least I now know what to do, I thought. I repeated my question, but this time I had my hands on top of my head, with only the bottom of my palms touching my hair. My fingers were spread like two erect, partially opened fans. Complete with my crown, I stood in front of my new Madame and Madame the embodiment of “a-pear-not-a-pear.” I remember seeing GertrudeStein smile. Already, my Madame was amusing herself with my French. She was wrapping my words around her tongue, saving them for a later, more careful study of their mutations.

The story of Binh's life and how he arrived in Paris and in the employ of the famous duo, is not in any way told in chronological order or in concise terms but a meandering stream of consciousness journey through food and tastes and smells, exchanges with random people, walks through market places, and sea voyages.

Looking back on it, I am glad I was able to manage my gluttonous greed and read and enjoy the pleasures of this book, with it's wonderful food, vignettes and meandering storyline.

Yine çeviri ile güme gitmiş bir kitap. İngilizcesini soluksuz bitirince eşim, dedim hemen Türkçe'sini edineyim. Karşılaştırmalı okumamla inanılmaz üzücü bir serüven oldu. Gerçek iki karekter, kurgu bir aşçı karekter üzerinden yazılmış. İngilizcedeki o şehvet, sevişen, seven cümlelerin anlamı kaybolmuş Türkçe'de. Neden ki? Söylenen her şey çevrilmiş ama anlamı verilememiş, bu yüzden kitap içine alamadı beni. Okurken bir ışık görüyoruz ama maalesef kelimeler kifayetsiz kalmış. Ben çok üzülüyorum kötü çeviri olunca ya, sanki beş çocuğumu gözümün önünde kesmişlercesine üzülüyorum hatta. Puanın çoğunu orijinal esere verdim.