By Audrey Fong
When poet Shelley Wong Tweeted about the lack of advanced promo for Anthony Veasna So’s Songs on Endless Repeat, I was shocked that, as a fan of both Afterparties and So’s Twitter account, that I didn’t even know that this book was coming out. In response to Wong’s Tweet, I immediately ordered a copy.
Published posthumously, Songs on Endless Repeat is a collection of nonfiction essays and chapters from So’s unfinished novel, Straight Thru Cambotown. From pop culture takes on reality TV and Crazy Rich Asians, to reflections on his own life like photographing the duplexes his dad owns or a friend’s suicide, his essays cover a lot of ground. For fans of Afterparties, the essays and novel excerpts both continue So’s signature mix of humor, poignancy, sharp criticism, and empathy, and offer insight into how So understood the world around him.
What stood out to me the most were his essay on Crazy Rich Asians, “Journey to a Land Free of White People,” and the chapters from Straight Thru Cambotown, which cover three messy cousins—Darren, Vinny, and Molly—as they return to Long Beach in the aftermath of their aunt’s death.
“Journey to a Land Free of White People” particularly resonated with me because I remember the hype surrounding Crazy Rich Asians so clearly. I was an undergrad at UCI (a school known for its large Asian American population) and everyone around me was excited to see it. A part of me wanted to support the movie to demonstrate to Hollywood that there was a demand for movies starring Asians. But at the same time, my antipathy towards rom coms kicked in, making me unsure if I was willing to pay $18 to see it. Long story short, I paid $18 to watch Crazy Rich Asians. Not once, but twice. Once in English and once in Mandarin (my friend accidentally bought the latter tickets even though neither of us spoke the language).
So’s essay dives into his own feelings, or lack of feelings (“The most surprising thing about the trailer was that I turned out not to have any strong feelings about it at all.”), towards the film plus his criticisms of it: its flatness (“many of the punch lines fell flat”), predictability, and confusing clash of trying to fight stereotypes (look how sexy Asian men can be!) while reinforcing others (dutiful Asian children, strict parents, etc.). Of this contradiction, So writes, “Kwan delights in dismantling stereotypes, but he doesn’t have much aim or consistency, and his approach is zero-sum: any time one character does something dynamic and unexpected, other characters get flattened into reductive caricatures.” Herein lies the central issue of Crazy Rich Asians: it attempts to defy stereotypes through chiseled bodies and wealth, while also reinforcing stereotypes of the “pitiful Asian American woman who has never once dated an Asian American man…only to be converted by Nick’s suaveness” and of the nerdy, Asian male (Why do we keep doing Jimmy O. Yang dirty? And what was up with Peik Lin’s brother?).
The included chapters from Straight Thru Cambotown are also sure to delight fans of Afterparties. For the most part, these chapters focus on three cousins returning to Long Beach for their aunt’s funeral, their shoddy attempts at preparing for the funeral, and their complicated relationships with the Cambodian American community, their family, and their friends. For those in search of a good laugh, these chapters build upon the idea of the “PRIVILEGED FAILURE” from So’s short story, “We Would’ve Been Princes!,” and delivers plenty of shitshow Asian moments from the cousins’ inability to convince the nom lort guy to cater their aunt’s funeral to getting high before reuniting with relatives.
What So does better than almost anyone is his ability to weave tragedy and trauma with the ridiculous. This blend shines in the chapter, “A Note on the History of Cambotown Funerals,” which had me laughing at both the ridiculousness of the situation while also nodding along in recognition. The chapter sets up the reader to understand that “the first Mas and Gongs to face death in the United States were primarily concerned with accruing enough old-school karma to ensure that nothing as horrible as an autogenocide would strike them in the new reincarnated lives they had ahead of them,” touching upon the impact of Pol Pot’s regime on their collective consciousness.
So goes on to explain that as years go by, it becomes harder and harder to accommodate Cambodian funeral traditions, noting that “with these difficulties came a lingering doubt that these traditions were worth keeping, a skepticism of whether anyone could actually remember with any accuracy what was and wasn’t in line with truth Khmer, true Buddhist, true Cambo-gangsta values.” The way culture changes and adapts in the diaspora fascinates me. What parts of a culture does one decide to hold onto? How are these parts chosen? So provides a multitude of reasons for these changing traditions (such as AP Chemistry and Biology diminishing Cambodian teenagers’ belief in karma), illustrating the slow but inevitable change of culture over time, while also demonstrating how older generations attempt to hold onto their culture through “impressive feats of overcompensation:”
The next phase in the trajectory of Cambo funerals was open competition. Middle-aged Cambodians started throwing funerals the way one would a wedding, say, or a graduation party–lavishly enough to prove they were better, richer, and more enlightened than the rest; not only were they the most Cambodian, but they also had the money to actualize this Cambo-ness.
This chapter is a sharp meditation on the change of community and culture over time. However, as is typical of So’s work, this chapter doesn’t get bogged down by these reflections; it’s never meant to be a full takedown of a community. Instead, it pivots to hyperboles about their competitiveness, bordering on the ridiculous yet somehow still believable:
At the funeral of my second cousin’s Gong, the eldest son of the deceased supposedly paid thousands of dollars to import supposed holy water from the secret wells of Angkor Wat. That same eldest son ended his eulogy for his beloved mother by forcing this holy water down his own throat, which sent him straight to the bathroom, where he stayed for the remainder of the funeral, shitting his brains out.
While this exact event has not happened at any of my family gatherings (and also, while I am Chinese, not Cambodian), this scene felt familiar to me in that it wasn’t far off from the type of stuff I can see my family engaging in. So’s talent lies in how he can write something remarkably funny and exaggerated yet it feels oddly close to the truth.
To say I’m obsessed with So’s writing is an understatement and his premature death is a loss of immeasurable impact. In the forward to Songs on Endless Repeat, So’s former professor, Jonathan Dee, recalls how So loved referring to writer Viet Thanh Nguyen as “my nemesis,” part of an imaginary rivalry with other Asian and Asian American artists, “always in a comic, self-needling way.” Between Afterparties and Songs on Endless Repeat, So has established himself as both a strong literary voice and social commentator. In the years to come, I know that I will reflect on So’s stories to inform my own work the same way I do with Nguyen’s work, establishing So, cheekily and lovingly, as a worthy nemesis to Nguyen.
Audrey Fong is your stereotypical Southern Californian. She loves the beach, drinks more boba than the doctor recommends, and has an Insta-famous dog. She is the co-founder and co-editor of Soapberry Review.