Take my name but say it slow

This meditative debut collection from Dai, a creative writing professor at the University of Idaho, explores the intersection of geography, identity, and sexuality. In "Running Days," Dai traces his relationship with his late grandfather through runs he's taken throughout his life, reflecting on how exercising connects him with his past ("I return to where I've been: the hills and the back roads, the Arizonan arroyos, that oval track in Wenzhou" near his grandfather's house). Ruminating on his practice of photographing expressions of love carved into rocks, trees, and other landscape features, Dai wonders what traces remain of his hookups with men he met while traveling through Europe and Asia in his 20s: "These men have toured me, and I have transited them in turn, each of us seeking some congress with difference." Buoyed by coruscating prose, the selections gracefully probe questions of place and personhood. For instance, the standout "Queer Cartographies" revisits the locations of Dai's romantic and sexual escapades--the Tennessee summer camp where he met his first boyfriend, Provincetown's "Dick Dock" cruising spot--and concludes with the insight that "all queers have these spaces we miss, spaces that taught us to be queer, whether or not we lived up to their tutelage." Touching and keenly observed, this packs a punch. (Jan.)

A provocative memoir of personal essays exploring race, identity, and queer love. In his debut essay collection, first-generation Chinese American writer Dai crafts an intricate tapestry of memory and reflection through lush, impressionistic prose. The book ambitiously explores themes of identity, race, language, love, and queerness, framed by Dai's travels across the U.S.--from Tennessee to Arizona--and back to his ancestral homeland in China. Dai's exploration of identity begins poignantly with his name--Thomas versus Nuocheng--offering a compelling entry point: "Thomas gets me through the roll call quicker….It is the name on my driver's license and passport, a word whose primary synonym in my head is me." What follows is stylistically profound yet often veers into self-conscious territory. The narrative is peppered with references to influential thinkers like Roland Barthes, Alain Badiou, and Vladimir Nabokov, suggesting Dai's thoughts are filtered through their sensibilities. He reflects, "For so long, I have thought about love as a feeling that lives and dies in the moment. I have thought about love through the words of philosophers like Barthes and Badiou rather than poets like Audre Lorde--Lorde, who writes, breathlessly describing a lover's touch, 'I am come home.'" This intellectual approach sometimes results in opaque descriptions, particularly when describing relationships with family and lovers--two of whom are referred to simply as "J" or "you." Stark black-and-white photos attempt to enhance his written impressions but add to the book's somewhat elusive quality. Dai's prose oscillates between clarity and dense, stylized writing. At its best, it offers insightful reflections on the immigrant experience and queer identity. However, the weight of its intellectual indulgences sometimes threatens to overshadow the personal narrative. The work will likely resonate with readers drawn to lush prose and literary experimentation, but it may leave others yearning for more grounded, accessible storytelling. Despite occasional opacity, this noteworthy debut showcases a unique voice in contemporary memoir. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.