Where the Past Begins chronicles the making of a writer. With characteristic humor and poignant observation, Tan weaves a nontraditional introspective narrative that is as complex and vibrant as this beloved American novelist's fiction. Interspersed with direct correspondence between the author and her editor, this audiobook will give fans and critics unparalleled insight into the author's process, her thoughts on the literary enterprise, and her singularly warm, intelligent mind.

The only other novel by [a:Amy Tan|5246|Amy Tan|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1437607346p2/5246.jpg] that I've read is her most famous one: [b:The Joy Luck Club|7763|The Joy Luck Club|Amy Tan|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1304978653s/7763.jpg|1955658] (I have read two of her children's books, [b:The Moon Lady|12558|The Moon Lady|Amy Tan|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1388202280s/12558.jpg|1842597] and [b:Sagwa, the Chinese Siamese Cat|35958|Sagwa, the Chinese Siamese Cat|Amy Tan|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1388361958s/35958.jpg|2188774]). While tJLC is remarkable as probably the most well-known piece of fiction in either film or literature involving Chinese Americans, I've always thought of it more as my mother's generation than my own. This checks out, as they are about year apart in age, but also because my mother is second generation, or in the first generation born on American soil after her parents immigrated. Unlike Tan, my mother and her sisters are very private, and I don't know much about their parents' immigration story, but I would guess there ARE stories about family that I SHOULD know, were it not for the fact that my maternal grandparents died relatively young in their sixties.

Musing on my maternal family line is relevant here, because so much of Tan's maternal history is embedded in her novels and I wasn't aware of it before. Where the Past Begins is a dreamy sort of memoir, partly due to how it arose (the original idea for a nonfiction book was emails between her and her editor, but he discarded that in favor of having Tan write 15-25 pages a week on whatever was on her mind and send it to him to maintain that informal spontaneity of casual email). The structure doesn't bother me, maybe because I flit from interest to interest with family history mysteries always simmering on my backburner. I really empathized with the sense of yearning to understand her maternal grandmother, and step into her mother's head during her difficult moments.

I'm probably going to write my mom later today (who was also reading this, or at least checked it out from her local library). ( )

Amy Tan’s memoir is unlike any autobiography that I’ve ever digested. Much of the book deals with the writing process. She goes into detail about how life events impacted her writing. Her complicated relationship with her mother is beautifully explored. You will get insights into her previously published novels which began with The Joy Luck Club. ( )

I kept getting angry as I read the passages describing her mother's behavior during the author's childhood, until it clicked: her mother was mentally ill. Of course. Once the author explicitly named it for what it was, I began to understand. Suddenly this shifted from simply a memoir (albeit one written in a really interesting format) to a memoir about being raised by a mentally ill parent. Well then - onward.

The section containing the email exchange between the author and her editor was fun and interesting. I couldn't identify which book they were talking about, and that was good because it left me free to enjoy the behind-the-scenes look at how a book is born rather than try to reconcile the finished book with the potential variations they discussed.

Another highlight was the section describing the author's links to classical music, writing, and stories. It actually started out a little dull, but then the author takes the reader on a little adventure: she narrates the story that always forms in her mind's eye when she listens to one of her favorite pieces of classical music. She maps this story against the precise minute and second of the music, and this allows the reader to put her book down, pull up the specific version of the concerto on a streaming service, and then read the story set against the music that conjured it. The effect is fantastic.

And finally, there is the story of the author's grandmother, mother, and self, nestled together like Matryoshka dolls. ( )

I sought this book out after watching the gripping documentary based on it - An Unintended Memoir. Tan's unique history does more than fuel her writing - I was reminded of [[David Morrell]]'s [Lessons from a Lifetime of Writing], as he explained the therapeutic nature of his own writing experience and it bears a striking resemblance to Tan's, even though she doesn't characterize it quite that way.

A couple reviews here bemoan that the book isn't a straight memoir - just the facts, ma'am. But Tan makes it clear from the start she wasn't interested in that sort of a book. She was more interested in giving us a peek inside her head, and she does that more than most any other writer I've ever read. (A recent example of this kind of glimpse might be the back material of [[Chaim Potok]]'s book [The Chosen].) One section of her book actually has her transcribing a piece of music she's expanded into a fairytale; another section has her dipping into her linguistic knowledge and curiosities; and throughout, there are snippets of her journal. I felt like a tourist in a grand house, peeking into various rooms and enjoying the sights displayed.

All along, she lays out the bread crumbs of her life and history, always careful to explain how they affected her emotionally. Memory and emotion are really the thematic pillars of the book.

Anyone who considers themselves a writer would do well to read this one. ( )