That memoirs written by adult adoptees are criticized as being "revengeful, angry and bitter"
. . . but stories about Asian adoptees written by white or Asian American (non-adoptee) literary writers are:
"blissful moments of high emotion and keen humor while
broaching hard truths about cultural differences, communication
breakdowns, and family configurations," and "tender observations that
cast a penetrating light on the American way as seen from two
perspectives, those who are born here and those who are still
struggling to fit in."
or "sidesteps a tender emotional reunion . . . in favor
of an honest portrayal of a mother’s sacrifice and a daughter’s growth."
One more time, for the cheap seats in the back –
Which is more is more authentic? Our own stories, or what someone else thinks is an "honest portrayal"?
Why is it that when our "honest portrayals" happen to be something
other than sunshine and hearts we get roundly criticized, told to "get
over it" and "stop wallowing in self-pity"?
If these memoirs were about the experiences of *white men recovering
from an alcohol or drug addiction* they would all have been best
sellers and enjoying multi-city tours and a seat next to Oprah.
Harlow's Monkey 